Worlds Apart
by Taaroko
Summary: Instead of Buffy finding Angel when he mysteriously returns from Hell, the Watchers' Council does. With Buffy's Cruciamentum less than half a year away, this is an opportunity they can't ignore. Sort of an alternate season three. Enjoy and review!
1. The Biannual Report

These toys aren't mine. I borrowed them from Joss. I promise to give them back in good condition when I'm done with them.

Reviews are the best ever (and you don't need to have an account to leave one).

* * *

Quentin Travers sat at his desk, poring over the thick file he had received from Sunnydale that morning. The biannual report catalogued everything the Slayer had faced and how efficiently and resourcefully she had done so since the start of the year. Annoyed though he was that this particular installment of Rupert Giles's records about his charge had arrived at Council headquarters nearly two months late, Quentin still read every word carefully.

It was quite an impressive report. For a Slayer who had slipped through the cracks and received no training prior to her activation, and who still lived with family and attended school, Buffy Summers was certainly living up to her calling. Quentin looked forward to overseeing her Cruciamentum in person. No mere fledgling vampire would do for this Slayer's rite of passage. Something much older and more cunning would have to be procured in order to truly test her limits. They had several in the holding cells already, but perhaps something even more formidable could be found.

In addition to quite a respectable number of vampires slain every month, she'd taken on other powerful foes and emerged victorious. In January, she'd destroyed a queen Bezoar and reduced the Judge to, in Rupert's words, "charcoaled, bite-sized fragments". In March, she'd killed der Kindestod even while gripped by debilitating fever. In April, she'd rid her school of the malevolent spirit that had been haunting it. In May, she'd stopped Acathla, and had managed to send Angelus to Hell in the process—and that was quite the bonus, considering that the infamous vampire had all but dropped off the map for a century.

Quentin did a double-take, his wrinkled brow furrowing. Acathla? Good Lord, why had Giles not informed the Council sooner? And he was just sitting in some mansion in town? Frozen in stone and dormant he might be, but a demon like that couldn't be allowed to remain so near the Hellmouth, no matter what state he was in! Wasn't the fact that he had been awoken, however briefly, proof enough that any number of terrible things could happen in such a mystically volatile environment?

Not wasting another moment, Quentin seized his phone and dialed so quickly that he almost hit the wrong numbers. "Weatherby? Yes, it's Travers. A matter of the utmost urgency has been brought to my attention. You'll need to go to the Hellmouth at once. Take Blair and Hobson with you. And Mr. Wyndam-Pryce—the lad could do with a bit of field work. Go to the abandoned mansion on—," he checked the report again, "—Crawford Street and retrieve Acathla, which has been there all summer, according to Mr. Giles's report." He pressed the thumb and forefinger of his free hand to his temples and exhaled slowly as Weatherby gave his alarmed and rather vulgar reply. "No, I've no idea why Rupert didn't inform us immediately, but that can't be helped at the moment. This is a matter of considerable delicacy, and it must be seen to as quickly as possible. Take Acathla as far away from the Hellmouth as you can and make sure that it won't be found again. Oh, and while you're at it, see if you can't find a vampire to use for the Slayer's Cruciamentum. The older, the better. Call me when it's finished."

[o]

Every step Buffy took towards the mansion was harder than the last, but somehow she found the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Finally, she was there. At the garden. The door. The room where it had happened. At the sight of the stone demon, the flashback struck her so vividly that she flinched.

_"I love you."_

_"I love you."_

_"Close your eyes."_

She swallowed painfully, then looked down at her hand. Slowly, her fingers unclenched, and the silver ring came into view. As vividly as the first flashback, she saw when he'd given it to her.

_"My people—before I was changed—they exchanged this as a sign of devotion. It's a Claddagh ring. The hands represent friendship, the crown represents loyalty, and the heart—well, you know. Wear it with the heart pointing towards you. It means you belong to somebody. Like this."_

And Buffy did belong to Angel, and he to her. But now he was gone because his demon had forced her to choose between him and the world, and there was no choice there. The world had to come first. Still, no matter how many times she told herself that, she couldn't escape the guilt.

Angel haunted her waking thoughts as much as her dreams. By tying herself to his memory, Buffy was damning herself, but that still wouldn't bring her closer to him. She had to leave him behind and start living again. She knew it was what he'd want her to do, and that made it a little easier.

She took the ring out of her palm and passed her thumb over the symbolic design. "Goodbye," she said quietly, before bending down and placing the ring on the dusty floor. She kept her eyes on it as she stood up again, then forced herself to look away. Another pause, and then she turned and walked back out of the mansion.

[o]

There was no escape from the pain searing every cell in his body. He'd tried for so long, tried everything, but he couldn't get away from his tormentors. They would hurt him, then make him whole, hurt him, make him whole, endlessly and without reprieve. And as his existence went around and around that circle, one by one, the parts of him that made him who he was had retreated so deeply within him that neither he nor the pain could find them, until the only thing remaining on the surface was a mindless need to survive.

Without warning, a blinding white light engulfed him. Even though it had never been used against him here, he knew instinctively that light this powerful had to mean pain, and he was terrified. But even while everything else around him vanished in the brightness, the pain did not come. He didn't understand. And then he was falling through the light, which faded a second later, leaving him to land on a smooth, hard surface. The impact jarred his aching body so badly that he almost cried out, but that would surely cause the light to return with the agony it had forgotten to deliver, so he kept silent. His surroundings disoriented him, but nothing seemed to be trying to attack him, at least for the moment, so he didn't attempt to move.

[o]

Weatherby felt far too much like an errand boy for his liking as he pulled the armored van up to the strange-looking cement structure. Travers had better pay him extra for this.

"This the place?" asked Blair.

"It is. Get the crate out of the back." He felt Blair's and Hobson's slightly indignant glares, but ignored them. Wesley, on the other hand, all but leapt out of the van in his eagerness to assist, stumbled, then righted himself with as much dignity as possible.

"_The_ Acathla is in there?" he asked in an awed voice while helping Blair and Hobson to wheel the steel crate along—even though it really only needed two people to push it while it was empty.

"Not for long," said Weatherby in a bored tone.

"Are you sure it's safe to remove him? The passage about him in _Harding's_ _Compendium of Trans-Dimensional Demons_ was not very encouraging."

"As long as you don't go touching the sword sticking out of him, it should be a walk in the park," said Blair mockingly. Wesley shot him a rather offended glare, but did not retort.

After entering the front garden, Weatherby moved past them and pushed the large wooden double doors open, then froze. "Well, well, well," he said, intrigued, "what have we here?" There was Acathla, all right, but that wasn't what had caught his attention. Curled on the floor about halfway between the four Watchers and the demon was a nude male figure, who appeared to be in a very troubled sleep.

"Did Mr. Travers say anything about this?" asked Wesley anxiously, looking from each of his companions to the twitching pale form.

"No, he did not," said Weatherby, raising an eyebrow. He walked forward. As soon as he got near him, the sleeping man regained consciousness. With an inhuman snarl, he leapt into a partial crouch, his face shifted into the demonic visage of a vampire, and he lashed out, his fingers rigid and curled as if to claw at anything within reach. Wesley let out a yelp and recoiled in shock and Blair and Hobson tensed, but, with unnerving calm, Weatherby simply kicked the vampire brutally in the face. He fell back with a whimper of pain, and did not renew his attack.

Weatherby may have been placed on the Council's brute squad after being expelled from the Watchers' Academy, but he knew his master vampires. Build, facial features, tattoo—there could be no mistake. This was Angelus. "This an old enough vintage for you, Quentin?" he asked contemptuously, delivering a sharp kick to the side of the groaning vampire's head.

"What?" asked Hobson, looking confused.

"We're taking him back with us," Weatherby announced, the hint of a smug grin appearing on his face. "Looks like we do get to have this over with quickly after all. Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, if you could retrieve the restraints from the van?"

"Of course," said Wesley, who was still rather shaken.

Two minutes later, he had returned with a heavy set of manacles.

"What's that?" asked Blair, pointing at the black bundle Wesley was also carrying.

"Trousers," he said, as if that should have been obvious. It just seemed absurd to him that they would shackle and haul the vampire all the way back to Council headquarters without giving him something to wear. Hobson gave a derisive snort, but Wesley ignored him.

Clothing and restraining the vampire was a surprisingly simple task—though that was probably because Weatherby's second kick had rendered him unconscious. Even so, Wesley hadn't quite been able to stop his hands from shaking with fear. He doubted very much that he'd be able to respond as coolly as an experienced special ops man like Weatherby, should Angelus attack him in the same fashion. The task was soon completed, and once Hobson and Blair had finished moving the unconscious vampire to the van, they saw to the other task they'd been sent for.

It took all four of them, using every ounce of strength they possessed, to maneuver Acathla into the steel crate, and then three of them to wheel the crate back to the van. Wesley, who felt as if he'd pulled several muscles in his back, was the odd man out this time. Panting, wincing, and rubbing his back, he stayed behind in the manor for a moment, hoping to collect himself before the others saw him again.

It was only then that he noticed the charcoal outline that seemed to have been burned into the floor exactly where Angelus had lain. "Curious," he said, bending down to inspect the black mark, and wondering how it had come to be there. He heard Weatherby shout for him to get a move on, and was about to do so, but that was when he noticed something else. A small silver object was lying within the charcoal outline, about level with where Angelus's heart had been. Frowning, Wesley scooped it up and examined it more closely. It was a Claddagh ring, but it looked too small to have fit Angelus. He jumped as Weatherby shouted at him again, adding a colorful insult this time. Pocketing the ring, Wesley hurried from the building.

* * *

Check it out! I'm actually writing a veering-off-canon fic! I'm just as surprised as you are. So yeah, this one obviously starts veering at the end of "Faith, Hope, and Trick". Okay, some background info: the only stuff the Council knows about Buffy and Sunnydale is what Giles puts in those reports. He doesn't put things in them that could potentially compromise her, which is why Travers's knowledge of everything involving Angelus is limited to when he unleashed Acathla. They definitely don't know that Buffy was dating his ensouled alter-ego. Or even that the aforementioned alter-ego existed, actually, which makes this a rather interesting situation. Also, I love writing poncy pre awesome character arc Wesley. Those other Watchers are all from canon. Weatherby was the leader of the violent special ops team the Council sent after Faith, and Hobson and Blair were the two unfortunate Watchers from "Helpless" who were killed and/or turned by Zachary Kralik.


	2. A Certain Lack of Elevators

Buffy walked through the forest, making as little noise as possible and hoping very much that she would be able to find a non-Oz culprit to be responsible for the death of Jeff Orkin. She could remember the hell she had gone through the previous December, when she thought she had actually killed a human being (though that had been before she found out that Ted was a robot). It was definitely not something she wanted Oz to have to deal with, even if the part of him that was possibly responsible was beyond his conscious control. And Willow was so scared for him too. No, Buffy wouldn't let her friends go through that if she could help it.

As determined as she was, however, her patrol of the woods yielded nothing. Feeling both disheartened and exhausted, therefore, Buffy headed home.

[o]

Meanwhile, at Council headquarters in London, Oliver Smith was thinking wistfully of elevators as he walked down flight after flight of stone steps in his brand new shoes, going far beneath the part of the building that the everyday Londoner saw. Of course, the place had been constructed long before elevators were invented, and it was just his luck that they'd only been added to the upper floors.

Wincing slightly upon reaching the bottom of the final flight of stairs as the blisters forming on the soles of his feet throbbed painfully, and now thinking irritably about how they hadn't even had electricity put in down here yet, Smith lifted his lantern a little higher. The yellowish light fell on an ancient wooden icebox and a small cart. Walking forward gingerly on his sore feet, he set the lantern on the cart and opened the icebox. Inside, apart from the mostly melted chunk of ice—which, Smith noted with further annoyance, meant that he'd have to replace it soon—, were twenty or so packets of dark red liquid. He pulled out six of them, wrinkling his nose in distaste, then remembered that Weatherby and the others had brought in a new addition recently. He grabbed a seventh bag and placed it with its fellows beside the lantern on the cart, then wheeled the cart squeakily around towards a short hallway ending in a thick iron door.

On pulling this door open, the light from his lamp glanced off a number of ornate crosses protruding from its inner surface. He pushed the cart down a second corridor, which contained eight more doors identical to the first. He opened the first door on the left and moved inside cautiously.

"It's about time," said a low, growling voice. Smith flinched, then, angry with himself for betraying a sign of weakness, seized one of the bags from the cart and threw it at the vampire chained in the corner of the room. It hit him on his ridged forehead and bounced off, landing just farther than the chains would allow him to reach. With a cold smirk, Smith made to leave the room with his cart, and the vampire swore angrily at him, straining against his chains. "Push it closer, you git!"

"What's the magic word, Ambrose?" asked Smith in a smug, obnoxious voice.

Ambrose growled at him furiously. There was a brief internal struggle between his hunger and his ego. Hunger won by a very small margin. "Please," he said through tightly clenched fangs. Smith walked over and kicked the bag of blood in Ambrose's direction. The vampire lunged for it and tore it eagerly open with his teeth before the Watcher had left the room.

Smith moved on to the next five doors. Only two of the other occupants tried to cause trouble—Sophia and Demetri, both of whom had been caught less than a fortnight before and hadn't given up trying to escape. Finally, he arrived at the door of the Council's newest undead prisoner, Angelus, who was still an unknown quantity for the sore-footed Watcher.

[o]

He could hear noises coming from outside the dark room in which he had been confined. There had been footsteps, roars, growls, more footsteps, a quiet squeaking sound he couldn't identify, and a rhythmic thumping that seemed tantalizingly familiar. No screams of agony or wails of anguish, though. And still, nothing had come to hurt him, and, compared to what he was usually forced to endure, getting kicked twice in the head hardly counted. Ever since that blinding white light, nothing had tortured him at all, or really even paid attention to him, except to lock him in this room and attach heavy chains to his wrists and ankles—though that must have happened while he was unconscious.

He didn't trust this conspicuous lack of torment. They were trying to lull him into a false sense of security, and then they'd hurt him worse than they ever had before. Why else would they have put him in this place where he couldn't move more than a few feet in any direction?

The thumping sound, footsteps, and squeaking drew closer, and then the door opened with a loud, grating groan. He backed as far away as he could, his eyes locked warily on the intruder. The man in the doorway began to make sounds with his mouth that he was sure used to have meaning to him, far in the distant past when pain wasn't the only thing in his existence that had meaning, but it seemed that his ability to discern anything of it eluded him, and he felt frustrated. The man made the same sounds again, more loudly, his expression becoming angrier, and he waved a small, clear packet of red liquid.

The movement caused the stagnant air to stir, and he caught a whiff of what was in that packet—of what was pumping warm and alive through the man's body. Hunger roared up within him, overpowering his fear and telling him firmly that this time, he was not the prey. No. This time, he was the predator.

With a roar far louder than the one he'd heard earlier, he sprang forward. The angry man had taken a step towards him split second before, but was still inches farther than the chains would permit him to move. The man leapt back with a cry of shock, then shouted furiously and kicked him hard in the gut. He doubled over in pain, but the man kicked him again and again until he crumpled to the ground, then threw the packet down next to him and left, violently slamming the door as he went.

His stomach hurt terribly, but the aches left over from a century of torment still hurt so badly that this new pain quickly blended in and became unnoticeable. He was more interested in what the man had left behind, anyway. He grabbed it and bit into it eagerly. It burst open, flooding his mouth and drenching his chin with the cold, metallic liquid. It was gone all too soon, and, far from satisfying his appetite, only made him hungrier.

[o]

Buffy sat bolt upright in her bed. It was four in the morning. The image of a chained, bruised, and dirty Angel was still burned into her eyes. Ten minutes later, she was dressed and on her way to the mansion, but in the next five minutes, she had changed her mind, unable to reopen that wound. Instead, she went to the school.

Why was this happening? She was trying to put it all behind her, and now she was having dreams like this? And what did it mean? She'd never had a dream like that about Angel. He was always the way she remembered: kind and loving and holding her close to him—at least at first. Something always happened to turn those dreams into nightmares. But this was different. Much more real, somehow. Angel had seemed almost animalistic, and all of her attempts to communicate with him were in vain, not as though he was ignoring her, but as if she was a phantom who could be neither seen nor heard by him. Her best hope for now was that Giles might have a book with some answers.

She had no sooner arrived at the library, under the convenient pretense that she would take over the Oz-watch for the rest of the night, than she was hit very hard in the face by her sister Slayer. Faith apologized in a "well, it was an accident anyway and pretty much your fault for sneaking up behind me like that, so I really don't need to feel sorry about turning half of your face purple" sort of way, then left to patrol. Rubbing her jaw, Buffy glanced over at Oz (who was prowling restlessly around the book cage and growling occasionally), then pulled open the card index and began flipping rapidly through it.

[o]

"How close are we to having everything ready for the tournament?" asked Quentin.

Blair looked down at his clipboard. "We're still short two vampires, sir," he said, before frowning. "Although, according to this, Angelus has been moved to holding cell number seven in the dungeon. Does that mean he'll be a competitor as well?"

"Yes," said Quentin. "Normally, the tournament is merely an opportunity for the graduating class of the Academy to see what vampires are capable of before they come up against one in their training. However, this year, none of the vampires in the holding cells so far is younger than a century old. At almost two hundred and fifty, and considering his notoriety, Angelus makes quite an addition to the event. What with his present mental condition, however, I'm not sure he's quite what we had in mind, but as we'll need a particularly strong vampire for the current Slayer's Cruciamentum, the last one standing in this year's tournament should be perfect."

"But, sir," said Blair, "aren't you concerned that Angelus's presence in this dimension contradicts what was in the report?"

"Not at all. According to Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, there were scorch marks on the floor where you and the others found Angelus. Given his proximity to Acathla and the rather bestial state of mind he seems to be in, which is far from congruous with records of his past behavior, I believe that he was indeed in Hell. I had feared that there would be adverse consequences to allowing Acathla to remain so near the Hellmouth for so long, but we are fortunate that the return of Angelus is the only thing to have come of it, and that you retrieved him before he could wreak any fresh havoc. As such, I see no reason that he should not participate."

"Very well, sir. Is that all?"

"Yes, Blair, you may go."

* * *

The length of these chapters makes me happy. This one is basically the alternate version of the first half of "Beauty and the Beasts". Also, Ambrose was one of the vampires I used in "Season 8". Three of his dungeonmates (so far unnamed here) were as well, and Sophia and Demetri (who I'm imagining as being played by Morena Baccarin and Alan Tudyk) are going to be reused as well, and done much better justice to. I'm only recycling personalities here, not backstories. Also, the occasional whimsy of this chapter can probably be attributed to the fact that I've watched six episodes of _Pushing Daisies_ in the past four days (anyone with a fondness for British humor should definitely watch that show).


	3. In Your Dreams

Giles entered the library about an hour before the school day would begin, opened the book cage for Oz, who was beginning to stir, then walked back in the direction of the stacks, drinking a few more sips of the shockingly good teachers' lounge coffee. There, he was slightly surprised to find Buffy, a few books in her lap, her head resting on her shoulder. Giles bent down curiously to retrieve one of the books scattered on the floor around her chair. _The Precognitive Power of the Subconscious_. What was this about?

"Hey," Buffy muttered sleepily.

"Hello," Giles greeted, smiling affectionately at her. She shifted the books off of her lap, and he caught glimpses of their titles as well. "_Exploring Demon Dimensions_ and _The Mystery of Acathla_?"

Buffy fidgeted uncomfortably. She had gotten nowhere with the books, but maybe Giles could help. At any rate, she would feel better if she could talk to someone about it. "It-it's just—I had a dream last night, after I went home from patrol. And zero luck finding a beastie, by the way."

Giles looked at her shrewdly. "This dream of yours didn't happen to be about Angel, did it?" Even if the vampire was a topic of discussion he could happily avoid for the rest of his life, he could tell that Buffy needed both a confidante and someone who could give her educated advice, and he was the one who fit that mold best at present.

"Am I that easy to read?" she asked resignedly. He smiled kindly at her, and she felt slightly better. "Yeah, it was. I mean, I've been dreaming about him a lot since—but this was different."

"How so?"

"It felt…it felt real. Like I was seeing what's happening to him. So, I tried to read up and find out what the, uh, dimension, I guess, that he's in is like, to see if that was what was in my dream, but…."

"Nothing helpful?" he asked.

"Not yet. From what I read before I fell asleep, nobody's ever exactly taken a documentary crew into Hell, so there's not much to go on."

Giles smirked into his Styrofoam cup, but sobered quickly. "I'm not sure that's what the dream was about."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're dating again, attending school—for the most part, life is back to normal. Your subconscious might simply be rejecting the return to equilibrium by showing you this. It's the part of you that doesn't want to let you move on. Fixating on it won't help you, Buffy."

"But I _can't_ move on until I know if this is real or just a subconscious guilt trip," she said, a tiny plea audible in her tone. "Seeing him like that, and being unable to do anything to help him? It hurts, and I can't stand it, Giles!" She blinked rapidly to keep the moisture welling in her eyes at bay.

"Then I'll do everything I can to help," he promised. Buffy looked at him, her expression overflowing with gratitude. He pulled her into a reassuring hug, and she sniffed loudly.

"Thank you," she said. "I know you probably don't want to do this, but it means so much to me." Giles almost let loose an incredulous laugh. Didn't she know that he would do anything to spare her some of this heartache?

At the sound of the library door opening, they broke apart. "Yes, well," said Giles gruffly. "For the moment, we should probably focus our energies on whatever is mauling students to death."

"Right," said Buffy, smiling a little.

[o]

In his third floor London apartment, Wesley was enjoying a solitary dinner of shepherd's pie, with what remained of the excellent rhubarb crumble his mother had brought him the previous day to follow for pudding. But even a delicious meal and an hour spent watching the new _Red Dwarf_ episode and a _Blackadder_ rerun could not take his mind off recent events.

With a frown, he put down his knife and fork and walked to the small second bedroom of the apartment, which he was using as an office. The room was so crammed with books that it was hard to get to his desk—the surface of which was completely hidden beneath everything he had found at the Council's library about Angelus. The small silver Claddagh ring sat on top of the mess of papers and peeling leather volumes.

He had not told Mr. Travers about this ring, nor did he plan to. After all, Travers's assumption that the Hellmouth's prolonged influence on Acathla was what had resulted in Angelus's return was quite a sensible explanation. However, it seemed to Wesley that the ring was a very crucial piece of the puzzle.

It was definitely too small to have belonged to Angelus, and Wesley doubted very much that an Irish ring would have come from the same demon dimension where the vampire had presumably been trapped. That could only mean that it had been put there by someone from this dimension. A female someone, most likely, judging by the size. How that might be connected with Angelus's return from Hell, Wesley had no idea, but it intrigued him nonetheless.

What he really wanted to do, even though the mere idea of it sent prickles of fear up and down his spine, was to talk to Angelus directly about it. But that would remain beyond the range of possibility as long as Angelus continued show no signs of sentient thought. What a fate for one of the most sadistically cunning vampires on record to suffer, Wesley thought as he returned to the kitchen to finish his shepherd's pie: to be broken down to the intelligence level of a beast. He almost felt sorry for him, and he suspected that whoever had left the ring in that mansion felt quite a bit more than that.

[o]

The rest of Buffy's day was not particularly enjoyable. All morning, her thoughts were evenly split between miserable speculation on what her dream about Angel could mean and mounting worry about how Willow hadn't had any better luck in finding evidence to prove that Oz wasn't responsible for Jeff's death than she had. By lunchtime, she was still so distracted that she barely said or ate anything, which made Scott and his friends, Pete and Debbie, think she had some kind of mood disorder. It was hard to care about what other people thought of her at the moment, though, so she left the cafeteria before she could feel obligated to pretend to be cheerful.

Matters were made several times worse when she went to see Mr. Platt for her second Snyder-ordered counseling session with him, only to find him dead in his chair, his face grotesquely clawed beyond recognition. The only good thing about this horrific new development was that it took Oz off of the suspect list. Since he had been the only one on it, however, it also put them back in square one.

They did not remain there for long. It seemed that Scott's normal friends were less normal than Buffy had thought. This discovery (which came in the form of Debbie failing to conceal a fresh black eye from Oz when he met her before sundown to lend her his biology notes) was the first in a series of events that culminated in Giles lying spread-eagled on the floor beside to the library counter with a misfired tranquilizer dart sticking out of his back, wolf-Oz running loose through the halls of the school while Faith and Willow chased after him with the tranq gun, and Buffy following the trail of blood Pete was leaving in his wake from the nasty wound Oz had given him moments before.

Eventually, after a clever detour that might have succeeded in throwing her off, had it not been for the smears of blood around a window above the lockers, the trail led Buffy to a large utility room at the back of the school.

But not soon enough.

"Oh, God," said Buffy, looking down at Debbie's lifeless form. She barely had time to feel her wrist before she was seized from behind and thrown across the room, where she hit a coil of tubing and fell to the floor.

Before she could recover, Pete, his face still a spiderweb of bulging veins, was upon her again. He pulled her up and began to backhand her repeatedly across the face. "You're all the same, you're all the same!" he snarled in between blows.

Finally, Buffy managed to wriggle out of his grip enough to aim a good kick at his stomach. He went staggering back into a stack of wooden crates, and she quickly flipped herself back to her feet and shifted into her fighter's stance. But Pete wasn't interested in a fair fight. Instead of renewing his attack on her, he leered evilly and grabbed the end of the heavy set of shelves beside her and pulled, just like he had done in the library. This time, Buffy leapt out of the way before it could fall on her, and it landed on the floor with a deafening crash.

"That trick won't work on me twice," she said. Pete snarled angrily and jumped over the fallen shelves towards her, and then they were locked in close combat. Buffy landed two powerful punches to his face, but didn't dodge in time to avoid his claws, which raked through the flesh of her upper arm. She gasped in pain, but didn't give Pete a chance to continue his attack, driving her knee hard into his stomach instead. All of the air whooshed out of his lungs, and he doubled over.

Buffy put more distance between them again, retreating until her back met the wall, and she briefly tried to assess the damage he'd done to her arm. The wound was agonizingly painful and bleeding as profusely as Pete was where Oz had bitten him. She looked up again just in time to see him coming at her fast, his face a mask of insane rage, his fist drawn back. She ducked, and his hand collided with the fuse box behind her, his heightened strength punching right through the thin metal cover and crushing the switches within, unleashing an electric current strong enough to power the school and sending it jolting through his body. The solitary bulb lighting the utility room flickered as Pete shook uncontrollably from the voltage, then went out with a little pop when he collapsed.

Buffy gagged at the smell of singed hair and flesh, then stumbled her way out of the room containing the bodies of Debbie and Pete, pressing her right hand to the bloody mess that was the area below her left shoulder.

Back in the library, a very jumpy Willow helped to bandage her up while Giles slowly came round and Faith dragged Oz back into the now doorless book cage and barricaded it with some shelves and a filing cabinet. When Giles saw Buffy's injured arm, he immediately told her to go home to get a full night of sleep, and she was only too happy to oblige.

* * *

Check it out! The third update in under a week! I promise I won't get so carried away with this story that I forget to work on "Season 9". Anyway, yay for heartwarming father/daughter hugs between Buffy and Giles...as well as for conveniently placed fuse boxes. Heh. Also, don't worry; there will be more Angel in the next chapter.


	4. Don't Trust the Barman

Lyle Gorch sat down heavily at the bar at Willy's and glowered expectantly at the oily little barman.

"Rough night?" asked Willy, trying to sound more sympathetic than nervous as he uncorked a bottle of whiskey and poured some of the amber liquid into a shot glass.

"Slayer killed my wife," he grunted, ignoring the shot glass and seizing the bottle instead, downing about a quarter of its contents in a matter of seconds.

"She the one who killed your brother in January?" Willy had a good memory for the woes of his patrons, which was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it allowed him to relate better to his customers (and sometimes earn a pretty penny if what they let slip under the influence of alcohol and misplaced trust was valuable to someone else), but on the other, it meant that he knew a lot of stuff that could get him into trouble—and had already done so on several occasions that he tried not to look back on too often.

"Yep," said Lyle. "But this ain't over, you know. I'm just gonna wait until she drops her guard."

"Sure you can handle her?" asked Willy cautiously. His policy involved remaining neutral, appeasing everyone, making money, and not getting maimed. Asking a vampire—particularly one as old and rowdy as he knew this one to be—if he thought he was getting too big for his boots was moving into risky territory.

"This ain't my first rodeo, son," said Lyle, chugging down more of whiskey.

It took about thirty seconds before Lyle slipped unconscious off of his stool and landed with a thud on the floor. A few of the other patrons looked around at the disturbance, laughed unpleasantly at the vampire who appeared to be unable to hold his liquor, then resumed their conversations. Willy replaced the drugged whiskey under the counter and walked through the swinging door to the back room.

"Got your package," he said.

Weatherby put out his cigarette and walked through the haze of smoke towards the shorter man. "Well done, mate," he said in his low, gravelly voice. He pulled out a wad of twenty-dollar bills and passed it to Willy, then rolled his eyes when Willy immediately began counting the money.

A few minutes later, as he was binding Lyle's hands and feet and hauling him into the back of his van, Weatherby smirked smugly to himself. He would be looking at a large commission from the Council this year. Lyle Gorch made the third vampire he had caught for the tournament, after Erebus—and that bastard had taken out half of his team before going down—and Angelus. Yes, a very large commission indeed.

[o]

Buffy had not had a fun couple of weeks. What on Earth had possessed her to run for Homecoming Queen? She was not that vapid, superficial creature who had been crowned May Queen at Hemery, and she didn't want to become her again. She'd had so much practice in that role, however, that it was easy to slip back into during this temporary insanity, but advertising herself to people she barely knew and trying to buy their loyalty made her feel horribly fake. She wondered how it had ever seemed fulfilling to her before.

To cap it off, she had not only _not_ won, but she and her campaign nemesis had spent the bulk of the dance being hunted by the contestants of a demonic game show that targeted Slayers. Buffy wasn't sure whether spending time with Cordelia or being hunted had been worse about it, but either way, even that hadn't been the end of her trouble.

She hadn't been doing a very good job of hiding how much her dreams were affecting her. In fact, it was hard for her to concentrate on anything else, which tended to disconnect her from reality. At least with Willow, Xander, Giles, and, to a certain extent, her mom, she could say what was really on her mind. With Scott, however, she had to act like everything was normal, and it was in that arena that she had failed extravagantly, which resulted in Scott dumping her the day before the dance.

Ultimately, by Saturday night, she had been left with a great deal of frustration that needed burning, which was where patrol came in. She didn't return home until well into the early hours of the morning, thoroughly exhausted after staking a few fledglings and tracking down and slaying the vamp who had probably been their sire. She didn't even bother changing into her pajamas, but instead collapsed fully clothed onto her bed, where she fell asleep almost instantly.

[o]

It was the same dream she'd had nearly every night since leaving her ring in the mansion. The one that, even with Giles's help—and now Willow's as well—, she had not been able to explain, and which had occupied her thoughts so much lately. It was always slightly different every time. Sometimes, Angel sat quivering and alone in the corner; sometimes, there would be a faceless figure who brought pathetically small bags of blood and made sure the chains were holding. Twice, she had seen Angel lunge violently towards this intruder, his eyes flashing golden and his fangs glinting in the dim light. Both times this happened—and sometimes even if he only sat docilely against the wall—, the man would hit Angel in the face or kick him in the stomach in response, then leave him curled up in pain on the ground. But no matter what happened, Buffy could only watch, unable to defend him or do anything at all to help him, and it made her want to weep in frustration.

This time, Angel was the only one in the room—well, the _cell_, Buffy had come to realize by about the third dream—, and was currently asleep. He'd been awake in all of the other dreams. She let her attention wander from his sleeping form to take in the entire cell. It was about as big as her bedroom, but the ceiling was lower and there was very little light, so it felt much smaller. The surface of the door was covered in dozens of crosses of varying sizes—probably the second defense, in case he broke free of the chains.

Buffy frowned. Crosses? Yes, they could be used to hurt Angel, but surely other demons wouldn't use them, and especially not in Hell. It didn't make sense. Maybe this was a subconscious guilt trip after all. She tried to open the door to see what lay beyond it, but she couldn't get it to budge, even though she could touch it. Ugh! What use was it to be solid in these dreams if she still couldn't affect the objects around her?

At a soft whimpering sound behind her, Buffy spun back around. Angel was still asleep, but his expression had contorted into one of terrible pain and fear. Her heart twisted with sympathy, and even though she knew she couldn't do anything, she couldn't stop herself from trying. She walked to him and sat down next to where he lay, reaching out to touch his face, wishing she could rest his head in her lap.

The moment Buffy's fingers touched Angel's skin, his troubled expression became serene. She froze. He'd never so much as noticed her presence before in these dreams. Did the fact that he was also asleep change the rules?

"Angel?" she asked tentatively.

[o]

The pain had been slowly ebbing. Mostly it was replaced by hunger now, but he was no stranger to that. He could remember years and years of dark, dirty alleys; of squealing, squirming vermin that only barely kept starvation at bay and left such a horrible aftertaste that it almost wasn't worth it.

He had tried to put off sleep for as long as possible, because he knew the fire and demons would be waiting to take him back, to punish him for going so long without being hurt by them. But he couldn't fight it forever, and eventually it claimed him.

As he had feared, sleep brought with it the memories of Hell that he had avoided as much as possible while he was awake. All five senses eagerly participated in the torturous nightmare. He could smell decay and death, taste the choking smoke that filled the air, hear the endless wails of the damned and the cackling laughter of demons, see the endless scorching red landscape, feel flames licking his skin. It was agony beyond description, but the fire only teased him. Burning, but never consuming. He tried desperately to wake up, but consciousness would not return.

Just when he had forgotten that it was only a dream and began to despair, believing that it was really happening to him again, a ray of warm light cut through his surroundings. The flames were extinguished, the tortured cries were silenced—everything melted away until only the light remained. His first instinct was to feel fear, but there was something familiar about this light. He trusted it. He knew it meant safety, comfort, and love. Knew that it meant _joy_—something he had forgotten about a long time ago. It knew who and what he was, but still offered those things freely. He quickly stopped trying to wake up, the tension leaving him as he basked in the light. He knew what this was—_who_ this was—, and he didn't want to leave her presence to return to cold stone, chains, and hunger.

"Buffy," he whispered.

[o]

Tears were streaming down Buffy's cheeks. He had said her name—almost too quietly for her to hear, but he had said it. Did he really know she was here with him? God, this felt so real. How could it just be in her head? She didn't know how long she sat there watching him sleep. He looked so peaceful that she couldn't take her eyes off him.

A sound intruded in the background. Loud, obnoxious, repeating. What was it? Why couldn't it go away and leave them alone? Couldn't it tell that he needed her? Against her will, Buffy felt herself being pulled away from Angel and towards the sound, which grew louder and louder until she opened her eyes to see sunlight streaming into her bedroom. Irritably, she slammed her hand down on the alarm clock, which made an ominous cracking sound as the beeping was silenced. Why had she even turned it on? It was Sunday! With a groan of exasperation, she rolled over and tried to go back to sleep—back to Angel—, but she found neither.

[o]

"Lyle Gorch has been placed in holding cell number eight, sir," said Weatherby in the same sardonic tone he always used.

"Good work," said Travers. He had hoped the final vampire to be contained would be old like the others, and, thanks to Weatherby's determination and greed, he'd gotten his wish.

"I do what I can," Weatherby replied.

"Very well, then, now we can begin getting everything in order for the tournament."

Weatherby chuckled. "This won't be one to miss."

* * *

It has always annoyed me that Lyle got away in canon and was never seen again after "Homecoming". Only Drusilla, who is awesome beyond all reason, gets to pull something like that; not some cowardly vamp who only appeared in two episodes. So I'm fixing it now, with the help of Willy! I love writing Willy. Weatherby too, even though he's a git. And hey, look: Angel's making some progress! Yay!


	5. Let the Tournament Begin

As you may recall from before, I would have cast Morena Baccarin as Sophia and Alan Tudyk as Demetri if this had actually been filmed. Casting the guy who played Wash on _Firefly_ as a hardcore evil Buffyverse vampire is much easier to visualize if you've also seen him on _Dollhouse _(partly because his sexy muscles were always hidden by those Hawaiian shirts on _Firefly_, but were gloriously apparent on _Dollhouse_). Aaand, moving on.

* * *

Sophia looked shrewdly at the large bags of blood on the cart. "Still fattening us up, I see," she said, arching one fine eyebrow. "At this rate, do you really expect the chains to keep holding us, even if you continue to insist on giving us the blood of swine?"

Ever since Lyle Gorch had been locked in the last cell a fortnight earlier, the vampire prisoners' pitifully meager rations had been more than doubled, for reasons unknown to them. The strength that had been fading due to prolonged hunger was rapidly returning, but they still weren't quite at their best. Much longer on the improved rations, though, and that was going to change.

"They'll hold you long enough," said Oliver Smith with an unpleasant smirk.

"Long enough for you and the rest of the little schoolboys up there to finish playing your games?" she asked. His smirk faltered. Being chained in a dungeon had affected neither Sophia's haughtiness nor her breathtaking beauty, and Smith couldn't help feeling intimidated.

Scowling at his own weakness, he threw a bag at her, which she caught deftly in one hand. The links of her chains clinked loudly at the quick movement, and Smith jumped. Sophia closed her eyes and smiled, inhaling a deep, unnecessary breath. "Mmm, there's that fear I was hoping would sweeten my meal."

Cursing, Smith seized the cart and left the cell. He could hear her laughter as he slammed the door.

[o]

The sound of his cell door opening woke him from his sleep, and he growled furiously. She would have come to him in his dream soon if it weren't for that man's infernal timing, he was sure of it. The meal could wait. She was more important. Hell hadn't been able to reach him even in his sleep since the first time she came, but this loud, angry man who always reeked of fear kept taking him away from her. For that, he wanted to hurt him very badly, but he hadn't been able to hurt anything back for a hundred years, and whenever he'd tried, the punishment had been swift, severe, and unavoidable.

After that first dream with her, those parts of him that had been hidden for so long that he seemed to have lost them forever began, slowly, to resurface. Many things continued to elude him, but he did at least remember the meaning of language again. Not that the man who brought his food ever said anything worth listening to or volunteered information about what was going on.

He watched him enter the cell, not troubling to keep the hungry gleam out of his expression. Part of him drew a very deep satisfaction from making the man who routinely punched and kicked him (which was far more irritating than it was painful) smell so strongly of fear. He wasn't used to having other beings fear him. It felt powerful, and he reveled in it.

[o]

Buffy opened her eyes and stared at her ceiling in confusion for a moment. It had been one of those rare nights during which Angel was absent from her dreams, and the dream she had instead was among the weirdest of the ones she could remember. But then she realized that it hadn't been a dream. Her mom and Giles really had acted like teenagers the previous night. And so had Snyder. She shuddered, then looked at her alarm clock. She still had hours before she needed to be up. For the SAT test. With a whimpering groan, she rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

[o]

"How are they coming along, Smith?" asked Quentin.

"They're about up to full strength now, and getting more restless by the day."

"Then I think they're ready. Take Weatherby and Collins with you, and bring them to the arena. I'll phone the teachers at Hampshire to have them send the Academy students over immediately."

[o]

The underground arena was so large that it took up the entirety of the two floors above the dungeon at the Council headquarters building. Rows of wooden benches encircled a ten-foot deep, brightly illuminated pit in the center of the room. Many wickedly pointed wooden spikes were set at regular intervals around the top of the pit, and crosses protruded from the wall beneath them. Though these effective barriers were rarely breached by the fighters, four crossbow-wielding Watchers were poised at the pit's edge just in case. Beneath the benches were eight small chambers that now held the vampires. From these, rusty portcullises could be opened, allowing access to the pit.

Wesley filed down the lowest bench after a few of his superiors, unease coursing through him. The only other time he'd been to one of these tournaments was during his own graduating year at the Academy, and he'd become so ill from the gruesome spectacle that he'd vomited all over his Demonology professor. Not a very dignified display in any situation, but as he had been Head Boy at the time, it was especially humiliating.

But that had been years ago, Wesley reassured himself. This time, he was attending because the outcome of this particular tournament would be crucial. He had gone through all of the Council's materials that pertained to Angelus several times, even though their contents made him cringe in horror so frequently that he feared he would soon develop an involuntary twitch, but something was still missing. Those records stopped shortly after the turn of the century, and a lot of things could have happened in the past hundred years. The unknown significance of the Claddagh ring was an itch that Wesley felt he could only scratch by actually speaking to Angelus face-to-face, and the vampire's lucidity and willingness to cooperate were not nearly as critical of factors as whether or not he would survive the tournament.

[o]

Below the benches, while a busload of students from the academy moved noisily to their seats overhead, the undead gladiators were being given their instructions. Weatherby, Collins, and Smith all roved around the space between the heavily reinforced cages, carrying long sticks with crosses on the ends, with which they could prod any vampire who was reluctant to enter the pit when the time came.

"Now," said Weatherby, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stamping on it. "The rules are very simple. There are eight of you now. Soon, there will be one. If you fancy being that one, you must fight. If you don't fight, or if you do anything whatsoever to the effect of trying to attack your audience, you'll be a crossbow bolt pincushion in a matter of seconds, and then a lot dustier a few seconds after that."

"You sods want a show? I'll give you a bloody show," said Ambrose.

"Fool," muttered Sophia.

Collins attempted to poke Ambrose with his holy cattle-prod, but Ambrose dodged it. His and Lyle's faces had matching expressions of growing bloodlust, but they were the only ones who seemed to be excited about the impending death match. Most of the others were merely bored or disdainful—except for Angel, who was bewildered. He was supposed to fight? And _winning_ was a possible outcome of doing so? The concept was foreign; absurd, but the unbreakable survival instincts that had gotten him through the past hundred years shoved his doubts aside.

[o]

"Honored Council members and soon-to-be Watchers," said Quentin in a booming voice once everyone was seated, "welcome to the two hundred and eighty-ninth vampire tournament to be held in this arena. You have all, of course, seen sketches and photographs of vampires in your books, but many of you have yet to see one of these demons in person. These are what we wage our war against, and today you will see for yourselves the brutality of which they are capable. This is what you must remember when the day comes that you must face one yourself."

Many of the Academy students looked deeply apprehensive at this, but Quentin went on, his expression becoming smug. "This year, our special operations squads have managed to bring in some of the most infamous vampires on record, which means that today, you will see battles between masters."

The students now looked appropriately impressed, as did the Council members. Quentin raised his hand to signal the first two portcullises to be opened, then paused. "Oh, and your instructors wish me to advise you that extra credit will be offered to the first students to correctly identify any of these vampires. Loudly, so that we can all hear, if you please." His hand fell, and the gates opened.

Before Weatherby and Smith could use the cross prods, Sophia and Ambrose stepped forward into the pit. Immediately, several of the students on the benches clamored to be heard over each other. A black-haired girl in the front row was loudest.

"That's Sophia," she almost shouted. "She was an Italian courtesan before she was turned in sixteen thirty-four. And the other is Ambrose, turned right here in England in eighteen sixty-six." The Council members nodded approvingly.

Ambrose's features became demonic, and he charged the older vampire without hesitation. It wasn't until he was immediately before her that Sophia reacted, when, faster than blinking, she sidestepped his attack. His momentum sent him crashing into the door of Erebus's cage. Lyle and Demetri laughed mockingly at him, and he snarled. In the second he had wasted to growl at the other two, however, Sophia had moved to the edge of the pit and jumped up. Many of the younger spectators gasped, and the Watchers with crossbows tensed, but before they could take aim, she had ripped one of the wooden spikes from the top of the wall and landed cat-like back on the ground, her long curly hair flying forward over her shoulders.

Rounding on her, but not noticing that she had acquired a weapon, Ambrose lunged towards her again, but his tackle was interrupted by the wooden spike going through his chest. He crumbled to dust, giving everyone above a clear view of Sophia's satisfied smirk. With an upward flick of her hand, the spike twirled through the air, then clattered to the stone floor, and Sophia swept regally back into her cage.

The second pair of cages opened.

* * *

Holy cattle-prods! *giggle* But seriously, though, poles ending in crosses would be very effective for that purpose. And I think vampire Inara--*cough* I mean, _Sophia_--has become my favorite of all of the vamps I've made up. Including my Seven Deadly Sins personified vamps from "Season 8", of which four are present in this tournament. And, yes, making Sophia a courtesan when she was human was VERY deliberate. Hehe. I'm having way too much fun with this semi-Buffy/Firefly crossover business.


	6. The First Bracket

Once again, try to think of Sophia as being played by Morena Baccarin (Inara from _Firefly_ and _Serenity_) and Demetri as being played by Alan Tudyk (but think of his _Dollhouse_ character rather than goofy, Hawaiian shirt-wearing Wash).

* * *

He had observed the first fight closely and his gaze followed Sophia back into her cage when it was over. Ambrose was dust, she was still standing, and nobody had done anything to her. It seemed that this really would be a fair tournament, even if all evidence suggested that the winner would still be a prisoner. He was amazed. Everything in this place continued to hold true to what it appeared to be. If anything was lying in wait to return him to the many agonies he had suffered before being brought here, it was certainly biding its time.

He watched the next two vampires walk into the pit. One was blond and stocky, the other dark-haired and much larger. He could hear dozens of heartbeats quicken in excitement, just as they had when Sophia and Ambrose faced each other, and the rabble of young voices from the audience above him began to shout the history of the second pair.

"That's Demetri! He was turned in Germany in sixteen ninety-six!"

"The bigger one's Arawn. 'E was a Welsh lord before 'e became a vampire in seventeen thirty-two." Demetri looked up at the freckly boy who had identified him and inclined his head, sneering. Arawn, on the other hand, kept his black eyes on his opponent.

Their fight went on longer than the first one, lasting minutes instead of seconds and looking more like a super-powered boxing match than anything else. Their differences in age seemed to balance out the discrepancy between their sizes. Demetri had broken Arawn's nose with one particularly well-landed punch, and a few retaliatory sledgehammer-like blows to Demetri's torso caused blood to leak from his mouth.

Seconds later, Arawn had Demetri by the throat, but, demonic features to the fore, Demetri retook the upper hand by brutally smashing his forehead into Arawn's. The larger vampire staggered back, dazed. Not wasting his advantage, Demetri seized Arawn's head in both hands and gave a violent sideways jerk. The audience collectively flinched as the sounds of his neck snapping and his agonized roar echoed sickeningly through the room. With a malevolent grin, Demetri slammed his now paralyzed opponent up against the wall and Arawn screamed even louder than before when the skin of his back made contact with the many crosses protruding from its surface.

Wesley wasn't the only one who felt like he might be sick this time. If the fight had been clean and efficient like the first, it might have been bearable, but it seemed that Demetri, whose cruel laughter rang in their ears, was determined to keep Arawn pressed against the wall of crosses until everyone on the benches could smell the sizzling flesh. Finally, when the girl who had identified Sophia and Ambrose swayed and fainted in her seat, a Watcher's crossbow bolt pierced left side of Arawn's chest, putting him out of his misery.

Demetri, who appeared to be more satisfied by the amount of distress he had caused the crowd than irritated at the early end to his fun, did not immediately go back to his cage once Arawn's ashes had drifted to the ground. Instead, he made for the one opposite it, which contained Sophia. Without slowing, he reverted back to his human face, walked right up to the portcullis separating them, and kissed her hungrily through one of the square gaps in the heavy iron latticework, putting his hands through too so that he could press one to the small of her back and twine the other through her hair. She reached across as well and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back with violent passion.

The Council members were rather taken aback by the nature of this unscheduled intermission. One or two students whistled, but most made noises of revulsion that any woman, demonic or not, could kiss someone capable of the sadistic abuse they had just witnessed. The kissing pair paid them no attention, also ignoring Collins, who was brandishing the cross prod threateningly.

"See you in the final round, lover," said Demetri huskily when they finally broke apart.

"Maybe I'll let you last longer than ten seconds," Sophia replied with an amused half-smile. Demetri gave her a look that spoke plainly of his confidence that he would be the victorious one, then turned and sauntered back to his own cage, making a rude hand gesture at the crossbow-wielding Watchers, all of whom had their weapons aimed directly at him.

And the next two portcullises opened. Only one vampire emerged right away. He was very tall, very thin, and had shoulder length auburn hair. Despite the fact that, like all of the other males, he was clad only in a pair of generic black pants, he looked like he belonged in a tailcoat and fancy breeches, and had an air of snobbish arrogance about him that gave the impression that he was quite used to getting his way without ever having to lift a finger himself.

"That's Livius. Formerly known as Jean-Léonard d'Orléanais, until he was turned in eighteen twenty-seven," shouted a boy on the third row of benches.

The second vampire required provocation from Smith's cross prod before he would come out of his cage. His long dark hair was escaping from the ponytail at the base of his neck, and he was shorter but broader in the shoulder than Livius. A slight shiver seemed to pass through the crowd of Watchers and Academy students at the sight of him. Everyone there would have known who he was even if they hadn't learned about him in class because of what he'd done to two of the men on the team that brought him in.

"Erebus. Sired in England in seventeen oh three," someone put forth quietly. Erebus's face, vampiric features already to the fore, turned slowly towards the speaker, and he licked his lips. Four index fingers tightened on crossbow triggers in response, but the vampire showed no further interest in the crowd members. His attention focused instead on Livius, who was eyeing him disdainfully, not even putting up his guard, waiting for Erebus to make the first move. Even though there were still yards between them, this was a mistake, for in making that move, Erebus did not merely walk towards Livius; he pounced.

The crack of the back of Livius's skull making contact with the stone floor was audible even from the very back row of benches. Livius grunted in pain and tried to throw Erebus off, but he could not dislodge him. Erebus plunged his head down and sank his fangs deeply into Livius's jugular, severing muscle and cartilage as he drained the recycled pig's blood from his opponent's body. He must have gotten the vocal cords too, for Livius's scream of agony was abruptly reduced to rasping gurgles.

At this point, even some of the more seasoned Council members had to look away. Wesley was doubled over, one hand at his stomach and the other clamped over his mouth as his lunch made a desperate bid for freedom.

Blood dripping from his face, Erebus jerked his fangs violently back out of Livius's throat. Then, he placed one hand on his chest, plunged the other into the gaping wound his bite had left, and tore Livius's head from his shoulders.

There was no applause that followed Erebus's victory as there had been for Sophia's, nor were there any disturbed whispers. The clanging of the portcullis closing behind him was loud and jarring in the completely silent arena. Quentin couldn't help hoping that this would not be the vampire they would have to use for the Slayer's Cruciamentum, and it was a few more seconds before he had collected himself enough to signal for the next fight to begin.

After his gate opened, Angel stepped forward, unaffected by the brutality of the last two fights, which had been quite mild compared to what he had seen and experienced during the last century of his existence. The reactions of the recovering crowd to his appearance varied from shock to fear to awe and included everything in between. The one thing every face in the room held in common was recognition; his tattoo was a dead giveaway. Wesley sat a little straighter in his chair, trying to will his roiling stomach to settle. He couldn't miss this.

Soon, the students had found their voices again.

"That's Angelus!"

"The demon with the face of an angel."

"The Scourge of Europe!"

"Turned in Ireland in seventeen fifty-three."

"I thought 'e disappeared around nineteen 'undred!"

"And I thought he was in Hell!"

Angel looked up at all of the faces turned to him and was startled to discover from their expressions that these people not only expected him to fight—an idea he'd gotten used to by now—; they expected him to win. At least against this opponent, anyway, who neither he nor any of the students seemed to recognize. This had not escaped the other vampire's notice, and he was not pleased.

"Aw, hell, you knew all the others, but not one of y'all knows who I am? I didn't die yesterday!" he growled, annoyed.

The students remained blankly silent, glancing at each other and shrugging. Eventually, Quentin was the one to speak. "This is Lyle Gorch; a Texan sired in the late eighteen hundreds, along with his brother."

"You don't get to talk about my brother!" Lyle shouted furiously, raising his fists. These humans had hauled him all the way to England, taken away his boots and hat, and fed him nothing but pig's blood for two weeks. They didn't get to bring Tector's name into this too.

Noticing the crossbows aimed at him, Lyle's lip curled and he grudgingly turned his attention back to Angel. His mood improved upon doing so. It couldn't have been better if he'd planned it himself. The Slayer had killed the only two people who mattered to him, and now he could kill someone who mattered to her. "Well, now," he said, leering unpleasantly, "last time I saw you, you were with that purty little Slayer. How'd that work out?"

Angel's only answer was a low growl rumbling in his throat. This demon did not get to talk about her. He sprang forward. His right hand, which had curled into a fist, soared straight into Lyle's face. Lyle stumbled backward, not knowing how powerful of an effect the involuntary reaction was having on Angel. For the first time in a hundred years, _he_ was the one with the power, and nothing was holding him down. Far stronger than survival instinct, that blinding, glorious realization was what gave him back the rest of what he'd been missing.

Angel was brought sharply back to earth by Lyle's fist connecting with his jaw and the jubilant "Hoo-wee!" that accompanied it. He blocked the next punch and returned with one of his own, followed by a sweeping kick that knocked Lyle off his feet. Before he could do anything else, Lyle had caught up the wooden spike still lying on the floor from Sophia's fight and jumped back up, lunging at him with it.

Angel dodged and, when Lyle made to pull back to try again, grabbed his wrist and twisted, forcing him to bend at the waist to prevent his shoulder from dislocating. From this position, Lyle could do nothing whatsoever to prevent Angel coiling his free left arm tightly around his neck. In another second, Angel released Lyle's wrist and reached around to grab his left shoulder, then wrenched his arms in opposite directions with all of his strength. With a horrible ripping, crunching sound that sent another shudder rippling through the audience, Lyle Gorch's head was separated from his body.

As Angel walked back to his cage, his eyes bright—not with the victory, but with the final return to himself—, up on the benches, Wesley discreetly punched the air in triumph.

But it wasn't over yet.

* * *

And Angel is _back_! Yesss! Also, I would just like to say how incredibly disturbing it is to write Erebus like this. He happens to be a good guy in my non-fanfiction project I borrowed him from. In that, he's basically a much angrier, much less stable, long-haired version of Angel. This version of him terrifies me. On the other hand, we have Demetri and Sophia. I adore them. For some reason, it does not weird me out to picture the actors who play Wash and Inara snogging madly. Finally, muahaha! I have killed Lyle Gorch! Yay, closure!


	7. Last One Standing

More Morena Baccarin and Alan Tudyk as evil hardcore vampires! Yaaay!

* * *

"The first bracket has been completed," said Quentin. "We shall now proceed with the second." He gave the signal, two gates were opened, and Demetri and Erebus walked through them.

The reaction of the crowd was much different than it had been at any point during the first bracket. They knew a little bit more about how the surviving vampires fought, and they had begun to pick favorites. It was, however, a difficult choice. The arena still smelled faintly of burnt flesh from when Demetri had held Arawn against the crosses for nearly half a minute, but there was also a shining pool of blood in front of the gate to Livius's cage, which served as a reminder of what Erebus had done to him. Ultimately, they seemed to take the side of Demetri, because his earlier strategy, while horribly sadistic, had been nowhere near as gruesome as Erebus's.

Everyone on the benches held their breath, waiting apprehensively for a repeat of the third fight, and even though his current opponent was far older and more skilled at fighting than the bloody heap of dust had been a few minutes before, Erebus obviously intended for exactly that to happen. He sprang towards Demetri with all the ferocity he had displayed against Livius, but Demetri was ready for him. When Erebus was little over an arm's length away and still mid-leap, Demetri caught hold of one of his outstretched arms and spun, flinging Erebus against the wall. There was a hiss as his skin touched the crosses and a loud _crack_ as two or three of his ribs broke on impact, and he crumpled to the ground.

Smirking, Demetri kicked the spike Lyle had dropped up into his hand and walked to his fallen opponent, but Erebus's fingers had closed around the crossbow bolt that had killed Arawn, and he stabbed it fiercely into Demetri's right calf. Demetri yelled in pain and stumbled back awkwardly, trying to put less weight on the injured leg. Erebus jumped to his feet again, wincing slightly when the movement jarred his broken ribs, and moved towards Demetri, who had bent down to rip the crossbow bolt out of his leg. He left it there when he saw Erebus coming and swiped viciously at him with the wooden spike instead, leaving a deep, bloody gash across Erebus's stomach. Roaring in anger and pain, Erebus seized Demetri by his short hair and smashed his face into the ground, knocking him unconscious. He then grabbed him by the arm and threw his limp body with all his strength.

Quite a few people in benches directly in front of Erebus screamed and made to get out of the way. A second later, however, they realized that this was unnecessary, for Demetri was prevented from landing among them by the spikes protruding from the top of the pit, on two of which he had been impaled. Wesley watched Erebus return to his cage as Demetri exploded into dust, and felt his apprehension grow. He couldn't see how Angelus would be able to defeat that monster—assuming he even got past Sophia, the oldest vampire of the bunch.

[o]

When her cage door opened for the second time, Sophia didn't even look at Angel, but walked slowly over to the pile of ashes that had been Demetri moments before, bent down, and took a handful of them, letting the gray dust sift through her fingers to fall back to the floor. Angel watched her, but made no move to attack. Something was tugging at the back of his mind, but he didn't have time to think about it right now.

"It's strange," said Sophia, a hint of ironic laughter in her voice. "We were together for three hundred years. You'd think I'd care more, wouldn't you? Oh well." She stood again and looked over at Erebus, who stared back at her through his portcullis with dead, hollow eyes, his lip curled in a snarl, and anger flashed briefly through her expression. "If I couldn't be the one to kill him, I'll have to settle for being the one to avenge him."

She turned to face Angel, who was still watching patiently. "Well, what are you waiting for? Aren't you going to rush me like this hot-headed imbecile did?" she asked, gliding over to tap her foot scornfully on Ambrose's ashes. "It worked so well for you against the cowboy."

Angel shrugged, not taking his eyes off her. "Let's just say that I learned a long time ago never to underestimate a beautiful woman."

"Why, Angelus," she said, smiling coyly, "if we weren't here to fight to the death, I'd think you were trying to flatter me. Not that I'd mind." She let her gaze travel appreciatively across the well-defined muscles of his chest and arms.

"Yeah, well. Like you said, we're here to fight to the death," said Angel curtly, moving a couple of steps closer to her.

"Pity," she said, her face changing to show her demon.

This time, the crowd's decision was much more obvious. They wanted Sophia, whose previous methods had been the quickest and cleanest, to win, and they were convinced that she would. They had good reason. Her arm shot out so quickly that Angel barely saw it, but he managed to sweep the blow aside with a block at the last instant.

Angel knew from watching her fight against Ambrose that Sophia was fast, but watching it was quite different from experiencing it. He barely had time to throw any punches himself, he was so busy blocking and dodging hers, and didn't even notice that he had been taking steps backward until he touched the wall and pain seared all across his back. By reflex, he jerked forward and saw, to his great alarm, that her little sentimental moment with Demetri's ashes had been a ruse. Her real goal had been to retrieve the crossbow bolt from among them. She was now pointing the narrow strip of wood directly at his heart, the same smirk she had worn upon defeating Ambrose now stretching her lips.

Before the bolt made contact, however, Angel managed to redirect his unbalanced movement so that her aim went wide and it pierced his left bicep instead. Though this may once have slowed him down enough for her to renew her attack, his tolerance for pain was quite a bit higher than it had been the last time he was in as intense of a fight—which had been his swordfight against Buffy—, and he immediately backfisted Sophia across the face, tore the crossbow bolt out of his arm, and plunged it into her chest.

Sophia staggered against him, her face reverting to its beautiful human disguise. The emotional reaction to Demetri's death that had barely been there before was now obvious in every feature. She seized Angel by the shoulders and looked directly into his eyes with her pain and anger-filled ones. "You kill that bastard," she begged him fiercely, before finally crumbling into dust.

Wesley unclenched his hands from the edge of his bench with some difficulty. Just one more to go—and, happy coincidence, Angelus was not only holding his own; he was speaking again and using calculated strategy against his opponents, so it appeared as though his sentience and sanity had returned after all. His chances of getting to have that conversation with him were improving all the time.

[o]

Angel remained where he was, his eyes fixed on the portcullis across the pit that separated him from Erebus.

"The second bracket has been completed," said Quentin. "Let the final round begin." The portcullis opened, and Erebus emerged. There was no question now which one the crowd preferred. They wanted Angelus to win, but weren't sure he could pull it off; Erebus seemed remarkably mobile, considering the ugly bruising on his ribs and the deep slash across his stomach.

They circled, each sizing the other up and mentally dissecting the previous fights in search of patterns and weaknesses. Erebus moved in first, but Angel dodged the blow and then they were locked in close combat. Angel threw endless punches and kicks, while, apart from fending off as many of these attacks as he could, Erebus focused on getting Angel into some kind of hold from which worse damage could be dealt. A sharp elbow jab to Erebus's broken ribs gave Angel the upper hand, but he didn't keep it for long. Erebus chopped hard at Angel's injured bicep, then dropped and seized him about the knees.

When he realized what Erebus was about to do, Angel pushed off from the ground just hard enough to propel him higher and farther than Erebus had intended to throw him. He did a backflip in midair, missed the wooden spikes by inches, and landed on his feet in the space between the first bench and the short wall on the audience's side of the pit. Expecting him to be skewered on the spikes like Demetri had been, the crowd hadn't reacted at first, but now that a centuries-old vampire was on the wrong side of the barriers, pandemonium broke out.

Wesley was one of very few who remained in his seat, his eyes darting anxiously to each of the men with crossbows. He was sure they would shoot Angelus at any moment and spoil any chance he would have had to ever speak with him, but they didn't seem to be able to take aim thanks to the bedlam erupting around them.

With a roar of frustration that his enemy had thwarted what should have been the coup de grâce, Erebus took a running leap towards the wall, twisting to slip between the spikes at the top, and hoisted himself across. Angel swung a fist at him, but he ducked it and barreled into his chest, knocking him backwards into the bench and seizing him by the neck.

It took Erebus approximately a quarter of a second longer to notice that he was now amid a crowd of panicking humans—prey he had been denied for months. His hands immediately left Angel's throat and he raised his head to look directly into the face of a terrified Academy student on the second bench who seemed to have been too paralyzed by shock when the wrestling vampires crashed onto the bench in front of him to try to move out of the way. Everyone else was causing so much chaos in their haste to retreat that the four archers still couldn't get anything resembling a clear shot.

"It's been too long," said Erebus in a hoarse, rasping voice, his face splitting in a wide, evil grin. "Far too long." He lunged, and the boy screamed.

Realizing the other vampire's intentions, Angel sprang back into action. "_NO!_" he bellowed, leaping up, seizing Erebus around the middle, and hurling him back into the pit. With a loud _smack_, Erebus landed flat on his back on the stone ten feet below. Angel spun around and shot a brief assessing glance at the student, who had gone almost as pale as he was in fright but didn't appear to have been injured. Satisfied that the boy was okay, Angel then vaulted over the wall, ripping one of the spikes from the top on his way down. Erebus, still too dazed from when his head had hit the floor to even see it coming, failed to move out of the way in time to avoid the spike plunging straight towards his heart as Angel's feet hit the ground.

[o]

Wesley stared at the winner in shock, unable to believe what he'd just witnessed, which everyone else seemed to have been too busy panicking at the time to notice. Angelus, _the_ Angelus, had just saved the life of a human being. Wesley had seen the expression of genuine concern on the vampire's face when he looked at the trembling boy before willingly leaping into the pit once more to finish off another of his kind. He didn't know what to make of it.

Nearly five minutes passed before the Council members and Academy students calmed down enough to realize that the tournament was over and—with the exception of a few people who had been trodden on when the crowd turned into a stampede—none of them had been injured.

"The winner of this year's tournament is Angelus," called Quentin in a slightly shaken voice. There was a smattering of applause—more in relief that Erebus had lost than anything, but Angel barely noticed. The thing that had been nagging at the back of his mind ever since the beginning of his fight with Sophia had become much more insistent now that his final opponent was dust at his feet. It was something important. Something about Buffy. She'd been in his dreams so often lately, always as the white, comforting light that had banished the lingering grasp of Hell from his mind. Those dreams were so real, so much stronger even than memory, that he was sure she was there with him somehow whenever he had them. After a hundred years of being denied even that much of her, these dreams were a gift he treasured deeply.

A hundred years. He had really been in Hell for a hundred years. Now, somehow, he was back, and all those years were beginning to feel like a nightmare, except that instead of waking up the next night, that enormous space of time had actually elapsed. Angel felt like he was being backed towards the edge of a cliff by his own train of thought, which was mercilessly forcing him to combine two simple facts. It had been a hundred years, and Buffy was mortal—which meant…which meant…. He couldn't complete the thought, but its impact closed around his heart like an icy fist all the same.

Angel felt like he was simultaneously reliving the time he had held Buffy's lifeless body in his arms and the moment of realization shortly after he had been cursed with his soul in Romania when it first occurred to him that everything he cared about—family, friends, home—was long gone. The only woman he had ever loved was dead, but there would be no Xander Harris to breathe her back to life this time, because he and everyone else from her life was gone too.

He had been wrong. His torment had not ended; it was just beginning.

* * *

I have been very careful to give Angel no reason whatsoever to believe that he isn't currently in the year 2098. Sure, there's a telling lack of technological advancement, but the only thing he's seen since regaining full sentience is the underground portion of the Council headquarters building, which already looks a few centuries out-of-date. And, for all he knows, the light that symbolizes Buffy in his dreams is really a Buffy who's in Heaven and finally able to visit him now that he's no longer in Hell. Anyway, lookie! The chapter title has a double-meaning! Which was actually a really cool accident. Also, good riddance to Erebus, and a very reluctant farewell to Demetri and Sophia. They were almost too much fun to kill off, even though I really had no choice in this situation.


	8. Confined to Square One

For Angel, the weeks following the tournament passed in a haze of grief and loss. Confined again to his dungeon cell, the heavy manacles rubbing his wrists and ankles raw, his only means of telling time was by counting the number of times Oliver Smith came to his cell to give him his daily bag of blood. Apparently the improved rations had just been to prepare him and the others for the tournament, because now that it was over, they had him back on almost nothing. He felt his strength gradually ebb as hunger gnawed continuously at his insides. Smith had stopped punching and kicking him whenever he came, and Angel supposed that was because he was now too scared of him after watching him kill three other vampires to try anything. Despite the lack of abuse, however, his dreams of Buffy remained his only source of comfort, but even they were bittersweet now that he knew she was gone.

At first, he didn't know why they were bothering to keep him around. He'd figured out that his captors were Watchers, but what use could they possibly have for a vampire? The tournament was over; why not kill him? These questions were answered by a short middle-aged man who accompanied Smith one day not long after the tournament. After Smith tossed Angel his bag of blood, the other man had stepped into the cell and looked him over with a critical eye, nodded, and walked back out. Angel had heard his conversation with Smith after the door closed behind them and they walked back up the corridor.

"What do you reckon, Mr. Travers?" said Smith. "Is he what you had in mind?"

"Yes. I had my doubts before, but after his performance against Sophia and Erebus in particular, I am convinced that he is exactly what I had in mind. Yes, Oliver, Angelus will be perfect for the Cruciamentum."

Angel could only guess what that would be about. He knew the word effectively meant "torture of the mind". Though he was sure this Cruciamentum was hardly going to be fun, whatever it was, he was also sure that men such as Mr. Travers would never be able to come up with anything that could compare to what he'd already experienced.

[o]

Wesley paced impatiently around his small living room. Mr. Travers had kept him so busy with ordinary Council work ever since the tournament that he hadn't had much time to give more thought to the mystery surrounding Angelus. And what a mystery it had become! The century missing from the Council's records, his return from Hell, the ring, the concern for a human boy, and the look on his face before they'd taken him back to his cell—like that of a man who had just lost everything that ever mattered to him. What did it all mean? Wesley had gone through those records for what must have been the eighth time, but nothing whatsoever could account for any of these new factors.

As he rounded the edge of the coffee table for the fifth time, he smirked. Smith, along with Collins, would soon be replacing the members of Weatherby's special operations team who had been killed by Erebus. That meant he would be relinquishing his key to the dungeons to whoever was first to volunteer to assume the daily feeding and manacle-checking duties. It was the perfect opportunity.

[o]

Buffy sat up in bed and rubbed her face hard with her hands. The dreams were just as real as ever, but they had changed. The night after her SAT test, she had found dream-Angel much the worse for wear. His left arm had been caked in dried blood from a deep looking wound just below his shoulder and he'd been covered in nasty bruises. All of that, however, hadn't been as painful to see as the look on his face. He had just been staring at the wall opposite him, face blank and eyes full of anguish.

And he had been the same in every dream since. The wounds slowly healed, but still he sat in that corner, staring at the wall. The only times he seemed to know she was there were when he was asleep. The tension would leave him when her hand touched his face and he would say her name with such sadness and longing that it almost killed her not to be able to take him in her arms.

Buffy didn't know what to do anymore. Willow had joined Giles in the opinion that her dreams were just that: dreams. Xander had discovered the subject of their fruitless research a week ago, and was now giving Buffy so much crap about still caring about Angel that she was getting very close to snapping at him. And possibly giving him a black eye. Would it kill him to show some sympathy now and then? Even Cordelia was more sensitive than him! Something was very wrong with that picture.

In a way, Faith had been the most helpful of them all. She didn't know or care what was getting under Buffy's skin, but she was always eager to come along whenever Buffy wanted to take out her emotional distress on Sunnydale's ever abundant demon population. Sometimes it was nice not to have to explain things to anyone, and nobody was better at deflecting people she didn't want to deal with than Faith.

With a slight groan as she got out of bed to get ready for school, Buffy remembered about the unexpected addition to her, Faith, and Giles's patrol the night before. Faith had been helping her work out her issues; it was only fair that she help Faith deal with her new Watcher.

[o]

The scene in the library that afternoon was not a fun one. After spending five minutes in the presence of Gwendolyn Post, Buffy couldn't remember why she had ever thought of Giles—or her mother, for that matter—as being strict. She couldn't believe that the Watchers' Council would actually pick someone like that to be Faith's new Watcher. So far, Faith seemed too bewildered to object, but as Buffy watched her leave with Mrs. Post, she felt sure that wouldn't last long.

"Interesting lady," she said once the library door had closed behind them. Then, more brightly, "Can we kill her?"

"I think the Council might frown upon that," said Giles reluctantly. Buffy pouted. "Well," he went on, sounding more businesslike. "How would you feel about a spot of training?"

"Yes, please," said Buffy, "I'll just get my gym clothes."

[o]

When Buffy returned from the girls' locker room clad in Sunnydale crimson and gold, she found Giles bearing a slight resemblance to the Michelin Man with all the bulky padding he had strapped to his chest, hands, and head. It was only the memory of how Mrs. Post had belittled him that stopped her from laughing at the comical sight.

The training session was fairly routine; mostly a review of things Buffy already mastered. She was just working on a combo move when something occurred to her. "Giles," she began, punching him twice and then kneeing him in the chest, "do you think we should tell Mrs. Post about the dreams I've been having? You know, fresh brain to pick? Brain that acts like your library is the leftovers from somebody's garage sale?" Buffy scowled in indignation on Giles's behalf. She really didn't like that woman. But she was desperate enough for answers not to be picky about who she got them from. "If she's really got access to a bigger library, she might know something."

Giles reached up and bumped a thick glove against his temple, then looked at it oddly and put both hands to his sides. Compulsively cleaning one's glasses was a feat best accomplished when not wearing protective gear. "Erm, no, Buffy. I think it would be rather…unwise to tell Mrs. Post anything of the kind."

"Why?" she asked, frowning.

"Mrs. Post comes fresh from the Council, and you heard her say she would be reporting back to them on more than just Faith's performance."

"So?"

"Up until now, I have been the only one reporting to the Council on anything regarding you and the situation here. The Council is not an open-minded organization. In your interest, I have withheld…quite a lot of information from them for the past year and a half."

While waiting for him to elaborate, Buffy walked over to grab her towel from the table and wiped her sweaty face with it. Giles removed his pads, stalling for time, but eventually he was forced to continue. "They know nothing about your relationship with Angel. In fact, all they know is that he tried to awaken Acathla and that you sent him to Hell."

Buffy stared at him for a long moment, then looked away. "In my interest, huh? So, what would the Council have done if they'd known?"

"Well, er, best-case scenario? They would have sent their special operations team to hunt Angel, before putting you under much more careful observation."

"And the worst-case scenario?" asked Buffy, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Angel would have been killed either way, but they might have removed you from your mother's care and from school—possibly even taken you to England to be tried before their disciplinary committee."

"Tried? And they'd have killed him? But he had a soul!"

"They would only have seen him for what he was. For his past. They would have seen, pardon the expression, the Slayer in bed with one of the demons she was duty-bound to destroy. They are neither forgiving nor understanding, Buffy. I could never have done that to you."

"But even after Angel lost his soul—"

"It would have been no different. He may have…deserved their wrath then, but you did not, nor will you ever."

Buffy didn't know what to say. She couldn't believe the people who employed Giles would be so cruel, but she was deeply touched that he respected and cared for her enough to protect her from them. "Thank you," she said. She was surprised to hear her voice crack. Giles put a hand on her shoulder. "So, uh, no telling Mrs. Post."

"No. And we might do well to put a moratorium on researching your dreams. At least for the time being."

"Yeah, well, we weren't exactly getting anywhere with that anyway," said Buffy dully.

"I'm sorry my, er, garage sale leftovers and I haven't been much use to you," said Giles with a rather pained smile.

"I'm not gonna say I don't still want answers, but it's enough that you're trying. After…after what happened last spring…it's more than I could ever have asked you to do."

"And I plan to keep doing it—assuming we find a way to work around Mrs. Post." He cleared his throat. "Now then, this Lagos she mentioned…"

"Right," said Buffy. "Patrol."

"In the meantime, I'll see if I can't pin down the location of the Glove."

* * *

And thus begins the version of "Revelations" wherein Angel is stuck in a dungeon in London instead of being very sexy and shirtless while teaching Buffy tai chi. I'm just going to take a moment now to mourn the necessary loss of that scene from this version of events. *sigh* Oh well.


	9. Team Giles for the Win

After patrolling through yet another cemetery with no sign of Lagos, Buffy was starting to think longingly of going home and sleeping. And then she'd get to see Angel. She slapped herself mentally. What was wrong with her? How could she want these dreams to continue? But the answer to that was simple. She may have been able to fool herself into thinking she was moving on, but in reality, she still missed him so much that she'd take anything that brought her closer to him, even if it came in the form of torturously realistic dreams in which he was suffering and couldn't even see her. There was no way this was healthy. Maybe it was a good thing that they had to put the research on hold now that Mrs. Post was here.

"You know what?" said Faith, startling Buffy out of her reverie, "We're oh-for-six tonight. Why don't we just blow this off?"

"Yeah, I am kinda beat," said Buffy, before offering feebly, "But Shady Hill's pretty close…"

"I'll swing through it," said Faith, shrugging. "It's on my way anyway."

"Alone?" said Buffy uncertainly, "I-I don't know if I'd—"

"I got Miss Priss on my back now," said Faith, cutting her off, "I don't need another babysitter. I'll holler if I'm having any fun."

"Okay," said Buffy, feeling the guilt about her morbid little secret squirm unpleasantly in her stomach.

"Later," said Faith, turning to leave.

"Thanks."

[o]

"Hey, Giles," Xander muttered sarcastically to himself, "here's a nifty idea: why don't I alleviate my guilt by going out and getting myself really, really killed?" Yeah, very smooth plan. Not that he'd exactly been able to think straight enough after that amazing—but very _bad_, bad Xander, you have a girlfriend—make-out session with Willow to formulate any better or less potentially fatal plans than this one. Xander shook off his fantasies about his (_off-limits!_) best friend and continued to make his way carefully through Restfield cemetery, his ears straining to hear the sounds of approaching demons, but he heard nothing.

Finally, he spotted the vast Von Hauptman family crypt and moved towards it, still pausing every other second to peer nervously in every direction. "It's quiet," he observed upon reaching the heavy door, then, unable to resist, added, "too quiet." Unlike in the movies, however, this silence turned out not to be an ominous sign. It took him nearly twenty highly stressful but mercifully undisturbed minutes to find the Glove of Myhnegon within the crypt.

"Well, I think I've filled my creep-out quota for the week," he said as he pulled the weighty metal Glove from beneath a skeleton in a large stone casket. He looked at the wicked hooks all around the end of the thing and shuddered. Curious he might be, but he didn't want to find out what those would do if he tried the Glove on.

He looked back in the casket and saw a small heap of old, decaying rags, which he pulled out and wrapped around the Glove, then hid the bundle as well as he could by tucking it beneath his jacket. This created a very obvious lump in the material, but at least the Glove itself wasn't visible. Still being as quiet and cautious as possible, he left the crypt and headed in the direction of Giles's apartment.

[o]

Giles scowled heavily into his tea. He didn't know how much longer he would be able to stand working with that insufferable, condescending woman. She had ridiculed his authority, his methods, and his ability to "control" Buffy—but thankfully, she had not encroached on his home. After finishing her own cup of tea and thanking him for his hospitality with few thinly veiled derogatory comments, she had left him in peace to stay, he presumed, in whichever hotel she'd lodged in the previous night.

A knock sounded at his door, and he groaned, thinking it would be Mrs. Post back again. Ironically, he was relieved to find that it was only Xander, who held up a raggedy bundle with a triumphant look on his face.

"Scooby gang: one, Lagos: zero," he said.

"Well done, Xander," said Giles sincerely, taking the bundle from him.

Xander grinned at the praise. "All in a night's work."

[o]

Angel shifted in a vain attempt to find a more comfortable bit of stone floor. His empty stomach seemed to scream at him indignantly, and his mind and heart were still wracked with grief. He felt as if he had traded one Hell for another, but this was the kind he'd never be able to escape. Even worse than the fact that Buffy and everyone else from his time in Sunnydale were gone was what he'd done during his last four months there. He'd spent that time trying to destroy Buffy like he had destroyed Drusilla, and now he would never have the chance to make it right.

The distant sound of footsteps broke the surface of his thoughts. Two sets of footsteps, in fact. He wondered vaguely who his new visitor would be, but he was more interested in the prospect of food, even if his daily allotment would barely take the edge off his hunger. Soon, he could hear voices too.

"There's not much to it, really, but it is a bit of a bother to come all the way down here to do it every day."

"I assure you, that won't be a problem."

"Right, well, he's in cell number seven, and you just take one of these bags to him and make sure he hasn't pulled his chains loose. You probably don't even have to bother with that last part now, though. I haven't seen him move from that corner since the tournament. Oh, and every so often, you'll have to replace the ice block in there, and when the blood runs out, you'll have to go to this butcher shop a few streets away to get more."

"Is that everything?"

"That's the long and short of it, yeah. Now then, all that's left, I suppose, is to introduce you." There was the usual jangle of keys, and then Angel's door opened. He supposed he might as well see who would be bringing his food from now on, so he turned his head to look at the newcomer.

The tall, black-haired and bespectacled young man in the doorway looked very out-of-place in a dungeon, with his crisp suit and almost unnaturally impeccable hygiene. He certainly didn't seem the type to want to spend part of his day delivering blood to an imprisoned vampire.

There was just as much fear in his scent as in Smith's, but his expression and posture suggested barely contained excitement. He'd clearly been waiting for this chance for some time now. Angel might have felt apprehensive about this, considering what had happened to him so far in this place, but the young man did not seem malicious—in fact, despite his air of snobbish pompousness, he didn't even seem like he'd had much experience outside of a library.

"Right, then," said Smith in a bored voice, tossing the bag of blood at Angel's feet. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce: Angelus. Angelus: Wesley Wyndam-Pryce." Wesley inclined his head, and Angel surprised both of them by returning the gesture. Smith, who had already turned to leave, did not notice, and Wesley followed him out, closing and locking the door behind them.

[o]

To Giles's very great relief, Mrs. Post spent most of the next day training with Faith, which gave him plenty of time to research the Glove of Myhnegon in peace. A few minutes after the final bell, Buffy and Willow walked through the library doors, chatting animatedly. They smiled on catching sight of Giles and ended their conversation.

"How goes the Glove-hunting quest?" asked Buffy.

"Oh," said Giles, "didn't Xander tell you? He found it last night. It's at my flat."

"Weird. You'd think he would've gloated about something like that to one of us by now," said Buffy.

"He probably just did it to offset the guilt, so now he doesn't want to take the credit for it," said Willow without thinking. Giles frowned at her.

"Huh?" asked Buffy, confused.

"Oh—uh, no," said Willow, panicking as she tried to cover her mistake. "I mean, the guilt about giving you a hard time about your dreams."

Buffy snorted. "Well, if he's having guilt about it, maybe I'll hold off on my plan to punch him in the face." Willow winced uncomfortably. Fortunately, Giles chose that moment to inadvertently divert Buffy's attention from her.

"Not only is the Glove in our possession," he said, "but I've discovered a means of destroying it."

"_Just_ you? As in, without the help of Her Supreme Snootiness?" asked Buffy.

"Yes," said Giles, almost indignantly.

"Ooh, and the first two points go to Team Giles," said Buffy smugly.

"Buffy," Giles admonished rather half-heartedly, "this is hardly a competition."

"Right," said Buffy, snorting again, "like you don't want to make her eat every last one of those stupid little sneering insults." Giles opened his mouth—not so much to protest, because she was actually quite right about that, but Buffy went right on with a new subject. "Faith still training with her?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Okay. Wanna come Lagos-hunting with me tonight, Wil?"

"Uh, sure," said Willow, caught slightly off-guard. "What snacks should I bring?"

Giles retreated back into his office, chuckling and shaking his head.

[o]

About an hour after nightfall, once he decided he'd collected the necessary ingredients to destroy the Glove (and had savored his victory long enough), Giles called Mrs. Post, who arrived at the library about fifteen minutes later. He was pleased to note that she looked completely exhausted.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Giles?" she asked.

"Yes," said Giles. "Would you like some tea?"

Mrs. Post seemed to take this as an invitation to use his chair, for she promptly collapsed into it. "God, yes, please. I'm completely knackered. I spent the afternoon training with Faith. She doesn't lack for energy. I can barely move, and she's gone off to some club."

"She's your first Slayer, I take it?" said Giles, chuckling a little as he prepared their tea.

"If you're questioning my qualifications," began Mrs. Post in an affronted tone.

"No, I'm not," said Giles quickly. "I have the utmost respect for your methods. In my own…American way." He cleared his throat. "I also have the Glove." She looked at him expectantly, and he elaborated. "Not actually with me at the moment. It's at my flat."

"Do you really think it wise to leave it there?" asked Mrs. Post, standing up urgently. "We must get to it. Immediately. Hide it in a more secure location before someone else finds it."

"Or, better still: destroy it," said Giles. He felt a sense of deep satisfaction upon seeing the startled look on her face.

"Destroy it?" she asked, smiling incredulously.

"Yes, I didn't think it could be done either at first, but," he picked up the book he'd been reading before and showed her the relevant passage, "it involves transforming fire into Living Flame and immolating the Glove. It's complex, but, er, I believe I have all the necessary materials." He left the book on the desk for her to keep reading while he moved over to check the items he had gathered.

"Well, I must say, Mr. Giles, good show," she said, her voice slightly colder now. A second later, stars exploded across Giles's vision as a heavy blow landed on the top of the head. He staggered around to see Mrs. Post wielding a wooden tribal statue from his desk. He barely had time to look at her in surprise before she swung at him again. "Good show indeed."

* * *

*Dramatic chord* aaand, cut to commercial. Haha. I love writing competitive Giles. And awkward uncomfortable Willow. And offended-on-Giles's-behalf Buffy. Yeah, with these episode-based chapters, I'm basically only writing the scenes that are different from canon. A very big difference is the intensity of Buffy's loyalty to Giles. Nothing has happened in this story to challenge their trust in each other, since she *did* confide in him completely in this story and he has been protecting her from the Council and is being supportive even though he has every right not to be, since it's about Angel. So, if anybody messes with Giles at this point, Buffy is going to automatically view them as an enemy.


	10. Loyalty and Lies

Okay, this time the slight delay in posting was due to me working on the update for "Season 9" instead--which has been posted, by the way. This chapter is extra long, though, so hopefully that will make up for it. Enjoy!

* * *

Xander strolled into the Bronze, but was disappointed to find neither Buffy, Willow, nor Cordelia inside. Even Oz was apparently elsewhere—though, considering what he and Willow were doing behind the guitarist's back, it was probably best that he didn't spend more time with him than he had to. He headed for the pool table and began to play alone in a resigned sort of way. He hadn't even finished the first game, however, when he was joined by Faith.

"What's up?" she asked.

Xander shrugged. "Nothing. Already found the Glove, and since Buffy's not here, I'm sure she's getting a fistful of Lagos about now." He thought for a moment. "It's probably a bad sign that I'm bored at a club, isn't it?"

"Hey, I'm bored too," said Faith. Her expression became slightly resentful. "It'd have been nice if B. had told me she was going patrolling again." She snorted. "But I guess she wouldn't have had the chance, thanks to my all-day training session with Mrs. Post."

"Is she really as anti-fun as Buffy says?" asked Xander.

"Yep. I've gotta give her points for sticking out the training, though," said Faith with a wicked smirk. She'd drawn a great deal of amusement from running her tightly wound new Watcher ragged. And, hey, training had been the lady's idea, hadn't it?

"Faith," came an urgent British voice from behind them. They turned to find Mrs. Post, who looked absurdly out-of-place, standing there in her carefully pressed skirt and blouse, surrounded by energetic teenagers. In spite of this ridiculous juxtaposition, her expression was so urgent that neither Xander nor Faith laughed. "You have to come with me at once." Her body was angled in such a way as to exclude Xander from the conversation, but she was still talking loudly enough for him to hear. "We have to stop Buffy from getting to the Glove."

"What are you talking about?" Xander interjected before Faith could voice her own confusion. "I found the Glove last night." Mrs. Post turned to look at him in mingled surprise and irritation.

"Yeah, I thought we were stopping Lagos," said Faith.

"Buffy has been corrupted by Lagos. She was careless, and now he has her in his power. She knows where the Glove is, and if she gets it, she'll take it to him, and then we won't be able to stop him." Faith and Xander stared at her, thunderstruck. Faith was the first to regain the power of speech.

"But Buffy—how do we get her out of Lagos's power?" she asked. Xander continued to gape, uncomprehending.

"We can't, Faith," said Mrs. Post, putting a sympathetic hand on Faith's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"But if I kill Lagos—," Faith began desperately. This couldn't be happening! She and Buffy had patrolled together less than twenty-four hours ago! And she'd fought Lagos herself! If she hadn't been so careless—if she'd only killed him when she had the chance…then this could never have happened. But there had to be a way to fix it!

"It's too late for that," said Mrs. Post. "The Buffy you know is gone. The thing that took her place already attacked Mr. Giles. Now, quickly, we haven't a great deal of time." Unable to think of any way around this, Faith followed her Watcher from the club.

Xander continued to stand by the pool table, staring at the place where Mrs. Post had been. He didn't believe it. He _couldn't_ believe it. What did Mrs. Post know, anyway? Buffy couldn't be…and what about Giles? He had to get to the school.

[o]

"Um," said Willow as she nervously paced back and forth in front of the bench on which Buffy sat, "not to downplay my own slaying abilities, which in some circles are considered formidable, but shouldn't Faith be here?"

Buffy shrugged. "I tried calling, but no one was home. Look, if you're feeling any demon-o-phobia, please, splitting is totally an option. You're not the one whose slaying abilities are required to prove that Giles is Watcher Number One around here."

"That's true," said Willow, still pacing.

"Ugh! It's not fair!" Buffy burst out, throwing her arms up in frustration. "This lady's been the Watcher of an actual Slayer for all of two days, and she thinks she can just pick away at the guy who actually knows, from experience, what he's doing! I mean, I do my job and I haven't died yet—well, not permanently, anyway—so you'd think she'd tell him he's doing a bang-up job training me and ask him for advice!"

"Is she really that bad?" asked Willow, who hadn't actually met Mrs. Post in person, but had been hearing Buffy rant about her almost nonstop all day and couldn't help thinking that she must be blowing things out of proportion.

"Maybe not," Buffy conceded reluctantly. "It's just, Giles has been there for me so much since the dreams started—not that he wasn't before—, but he's more than just my Watcher, you know? I can tell him anything, like I can with you and Xander. Maybe I should have tried that instead of running away. I don't know what I'd do without Giles." Her expression hardened. "Which is why anyone who messes with him is gonna have a very angry Buffy to deal with." She glowered at a nearby headstone as if it too had been slighting Giles.

"It must be really nice to share those burdens, huh?" said Willow, "I mean, 'cause keeping secrets is a lot of work." She froze. "One could hypothetically imagine," she added quickly, but Buffy, who was still scowling at the tombstone, hadn't noticed the near slip-up anyway.

Willow couldn't take it anymore. The guilty bubble in her stomach was growing every day, making her feel almost physically ill, and if Buffy could confide deep, dark secrets not only to Giles, but to her and Xander as well, then she could surely tell Buffy her own in return. Rigid with anxiety, she turned to face her best friend. "Okay," she said. "There's something I have to tell you."

"What?" asked Buffy, looking up at Willow, trying to shake off her moody thoughts about Mrs. Post.

"Okay," said Willow again, swallowing hard, trying to reassure herself. "This will make me feel better, right? You know, I always considered myself a good person. Floss, do my homework, never cheat. But lately—and please don't judge me on this, but I want you to be the first to know that…that—there's a demon behind you."

Buffy turned, then kicked to spin herself around the bench, and launched herself at Lagos, who had evidently decided that the perfect time to attempt to raid the Von Hauptman family crypt would be in the middle of Willow's moment of truth. Willow watched—worried, tense, and unsure of what to do with herself—as Buffy fought the tall, armor-clad demon. But even though it appeared that Lagos had a monopoly on the upper hand, the tables quickly turned when Buffy seized his axe, and, seconds later, his severed head tumbled onto the grass, where it was soon joined by the body.

"Yes!" cried Willow, half relieved, half triumphant.

Buffy walked smugly back to join her, idly swinging the axe. "Sorry about that," she said. "So, what were you saying?"

Willow faltered. "Oh, I…," she began, but whatever nerve she'd had before was gone. "I opened my SAT test booklet five minutes early," she invented lamely. Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Just doesn't seem important now, does it?"

"Your secret's safe with me," said Buffy, amused. She looked back at the head and body of Lagos. "Come on," she said, shouldering the axe, "let's go bring Giles some happiness."

[o]

Xander reached the library at last, only for things to instantly go from bad to worse. Giles lay barely conscious on the floor of his office, the side of his head covered in blood. Xander didn't want to believe what Mrs. Post had said, but it seemed like the only explanation for what had happened. He postponed having to deal with the idea that one of his best friends had been irreversibly corrupted by a demon by calling an ambulance for Giles.

The paramedics arrived a few minutes later, and just after they put Giles on the gurney, Buffy and Willow entered the library too, looking cheerful. Their smiles died almost instantly, however, when they registered the scene before them. Xander, who had jumped backward in alarm upon seeing Buffy, watched with increasing confusion as she dropped the axe she'd been holding and ran to Giles's side, looking terrified. Something definitely did not add up.

"Giles," said Buffy, her voice high and cracked and her vision blurring with tears. "What happened?" she asked the nearest paramedic, but his curt reply only increased her fear. They started to wheel him away, but Giles suddenly surfaced from his delirium, focusing on Buffy's face with what seemed to be a great amount of difficulty.

"Buffy," he said weakly, "you must…destroy the glove." The paramedics started moving again. "Use…Living…Flame," he said before he was borne away through the swinging doors. Buffy rounded on Xander.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Buffy," he said, "you're okay! You're you!"

"What are you talking about?" she tried to ask, but Xander interrupted her by throwing his arms tightly around her. She was too surprised to react, and when she looked at Willow, the redhead seemed just as astonished as she felt.

"Mrs. Post said you'd been corrupted by Lagos," said Xander, his voice weak with relief.

"But Buffy just killed Lagos," said Willow, frowning. "We were coming to tell Giles about it."

Xander released Buffy, who took a step back from him. "Then why would Mrs. Post say that? She and Faith went to Giles's place to get the Glove, and Faith's all set to attack Buffy if she tries to—if she," he trailed off, his eyes widening. "Oh, my God."

Buffy and Willow had realized it at the same moment he had. "How much of a head-start do they have?" asked Buffy, whose hands were balled into fists.

"Fifteen minutes," said Xander, the color draining from his face.

"Giles said something about Living Flame. You two go through his research, see if you can find out how to destroy the Glove," said Buffy, now in full Slayer mode.

Xander and Willow nodded mutely, and Buffy turned, grabbed the axe from the floor, and left the library.

[o]

Mrs. Post smiled to herself as she watched Faith break open the door to Mr. Giles's apartment. Despite a few minor snags along the way, everything was going according to plan. "Good work," she said, "you wait in the courtyard in case Buffy comes, and I'll look for the Glove." Faith nodded and did as she was told.

It took about five minutes for Buffy to arrive, carrying an axe. "Faith!" she said loudly.

"I won't let you get the Glove," said Faith, already in a fighting stance.

"No!" said Buffy, running closer, dropping the axe, and holding up her hands, palms out imploringly, "this isn't what you think!"

Faith's answer was a fist to Buffy's jaw, followed by a series of kicks that knocked her to the ground. Buffy had no choice but to fight back, and the two Slayers were soon locked in brutal combat. This continued for several minutes, Buffy making multiple unsuccessful attempts to either enter the apartment or convince Faith that Mrs. Post was the real culprit. Ultimately, however, she didn't have to. Mrs. Post emerged from Giles's apartment with the Glove.

Both Slayers froze, mid-fight, to stare at her. Their eyes widened, though for different reasons, when she put the Glove on, a triumphant expression on her face. The metal hooks around the cuff of the Glove plunged, one by one, into the flesh of her forearm, and she looked up at them, a truly evil smile stretching her lips.

"Faith," she said mockingly, "A word of advice? You're an idiot." She raised her gloved right arm high into the air, and began to chant in Gaelic.

"Oh, no you don't," said Buffy. She rolled forward, caught up the abandoned axe, and hurled it through the air. The blade cleanly severed Mrs. Post's right arm an inch above the elbow, just as lightning crackled through the Glove. Mrs. Post let out a blood-curdling scream of agony as the Glove's power turned against her, and a second later, she had been consumed by the blinding electric energy.

Two seconds later, Xander and Willow came bounding into the courtyard, panting heavily and holding plastic bags full of colorful powder. They stared back and forth from Faith, who was looking furious at having been duped, to Buffy, who was glaring in cold satisfaction at the place where the woman who had hurt her Watcher had last been.

[o]

It required all of Wesley's self control to maintain a calm, dignified gait as he walked down to the dungeon. Once there, he opened the icebox, which now contained a fresh block of ice, and pulled out one of the containers from within, then fumbled one-handed with the ring of keys to find the ones that would open the outer door and then the door to Angelus's cell. Shortly thereafter, he stood before that second door, and paused to quickly go over his plan again in his mind. He would not ask all of his questions today. There would be plenty of time for that; no need to seem desperate by showing all of his cards at once. With a deep breath, he pulled the heavy door open at last.

[o]

As always, Angel had known since before the icebox door was opened that his food was on its way, so he did not react when Wesley opened the door. At least, not until he caught sight of, not a bag, but a glass bottle of blood in the young Watcher's hands. There had to be a whole quart in there, if not more. Wesley tossed it to him, and he caught it automatically.

"This is at least five times more than what that other guy, Smith, was giving me," he observed warily, making no move to drink the bottle's contents, even though his mouth was already watering at the prospect of the first decent sized meal since…well, since before Hell. Even the pre-tournament rations hadn't been anywhere near this good.

"It's the amount you would normally drink in a day, yes?" said Wesley.

"Yeah, but I thought the idea of the rations was to keep me weak and starved."

"It was _an_ idea. But it just so happens that it was not mine."

Not taking his eyes off Wesley, Angel uncorked the bottle, lifted it to his nose, and sniffed it. "It's clean," he said, perplexed. Then his eyes widened. "You trust me," he realized, shocked.

"Well, I'm not sure I'd go directly to trust just yet," said Wesley, clearing his throat. Technically, what he was doing now would be better classified as bribery, but to admit that would quite defeat the purpose. "However, despite ample opportunity—and, knowing Oliver Smith, provocation—of late, you don't bite the hand that feeds you." He paused and closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly at the unintentional humor in his choice of words. "And, as a vampire, I imagine that's saying something. I may have yet to put a respectable amount of field experience under my belt, but I've read everything in the Council's archives on you, and I am rather curious to know why your behavior from the moment of your arrival here has been so out-of-character."

"I'm sure your honorable colleagues would beg to differ," said Angel, the faintest trace of a growl in his voice.

"Oh, quite. Which is why I don't plan to tell them about this." He indicated the bottle of blood in Angel's hands. "What Mr. Travers doesn't know will neither hurt him nor needlessly starve you."

Angel considered the closest thing he had to an ally in this place for a moment. "Thank you," he said, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. This was the first time someone had done something nice for him in a century, and he couldn't help feeling touched by it, but Wesley looked very taken aback by Angel's sincerity and manners.

"You're welcome," he said eventually, feeling suddenly that he couldn't do any more of this at the moment. "Now," he cleared his throat again, awkwardly and more loudly than before, "I, er, I expect that you'll be wanting a bit of privacy while you drink that."

"If that's alright with you," said Angel, almost chuckling at the young Englishman's antics.

"Yes, well," said Wesley, his voice trailing away feebly as he departed stiffly.

* * *

And thus concludes my alternate version of "Revelations". While I am proud of the way I reconstructed the plot around the absence of Angel, I'm more proud of the scene with Angel and Wesley. I love chipping away at what Wesley believes to be true about Angel. And I love that he's simultaneously rebelling against the Council's traditional method of dealing with captive vampires and attempting to play a mind game with Angel. It's sad that Wesley's still mostly doing this for selfish reasons, though, because Angel really needs a friend. And...that's my cue to stop babbling.


	11. Observation Versus Preconception

Wesley frowned at the cold bottle of blood in his hand. He had hoped to get closer to the answers he sought when delivering Angelus's blood the day before, but instead he only came out with more questions. The centuries-old vampire had been _friendly_, if wary and rather forlorn. What was more, he didn't think he'd ever seen gratitude more sincere than what Angelus had shown after he gave him the blood. Wesley knew he hadn't imagined it. Was it an act? It was certainly a performance worthy of an award, if that had been the case. But no, he thought, what could be gained from that? He was already giving him more blood, and he had neither the authority to grant him his freedom nor the key to unlock his manacles. Nothing about Angelus's situation could be improved by pretending to have such human-like emotions. But the possibility that he wasn't acting; that he, a demon, really did feel the things he had communicated through both expression and tone—it was absurd…wasn't it?

Wesley shook his head slightly to clear it. Perhaps he would have to observe Angelus a little longer before asking his questions.

[o]

"You're not just trying to give me an edge in the next tournament, by any chance, are you?" asked Angel, watching Wesley closely as he accepted the bottle of blood from him.

"I most certainly am not," said Wesley forcefully, his expression hardening. "And, thankfully, the tournaments are only held annually."

"Ah, so you're not a fan, then," said Angel, smirking. "That's surprising. I mean, there can't be many more efficient ways of killing old vampires than by getting us to fight each other, can there?"

"What they forced you and the others to do at the tournament was barbaric," said Wesley angrily, picking up the empty bottle from the day before and clenching his fingers tightly around it.

Angel laughed incredulously. "I'm immortal, and I still never thought I'd live to see a Watcher as an advocate for vampires' rights." He raised the new bottle to Wesley, popped the cork, and took a few swigs from it.

Wesley glared at him. "I actually would have preferred it if they'd slain the lot of you at the point of initial capture. The tournaments are unnecessary exercises in cruelty. They enjoy watching you fight to the death far too much for me to believe that it's purely educational. And, in any case, students who might not even be old enough to purchase their own tickets to rated 18 films are hardly mature enough to witness it."

"Hey, it's part of the world they live in," said Angel grimly, leaning back against the wall. "Better to see it early on so they won't underestimate it when they have to go out there and live it than be sheltered their whole lives, only to end up dead in an alley." _And I should know_, he added mentally. During the silence that followed his words, he drank a few more mouthfuls from the bottle.

"Why do you do that?" asked Wesley, who was staring closely at him, looking both puzzled and agitated.

"Do what?"

"Act like you care."

"Maybe I do." He looked down and added, more quietly, "Even if I sometimes wish I didn't." His throat tightened painfully, and he set the bottle aside. His thoughts had returned to Buffy. Though he tried to avoid dwelling on her—which was already nearly impossible thanks to the never-ending dreams—, he never succeeded for very long. The lighter mood brought about by having non-hostile company and civilized conversation evaporated, to be replaced by the same black gloom that engulfed him almost constantly, and as much as he was starting to like Wesley, he now wished that he would just leave him alone. "Thanks again for this," he said, indicating the bottle, his voice breaking slightly.

Though Wesley recognized the veiled request for solitude, he continued to stare at Angel for a long moment before leaving the cell.

[o]

Buffy picked noncommittally at her food, trying and failing not to replay last night's dream in her mind. Angel had looked healthier than before, but still wore that unbearably sad expression.

"Do you want to do some more dream research after school?" asked Willow, breaking the silence unexpectedly. "I mean, now that Evil Watcher Lady is gone, it's safe again, right? We've got to study for our chemistry and English tests, but I think we'll have time to go through at least one more book, or I could go online." Perhaps Buffy had imagined it, but there seemed to be a note of weariness in Willow's tone. And why shouldn't there be? They'd been researching for nearly two months now without getting anywhere.

"I'm pretty sure there aren't any books left that we haven't already checked, and you've probably gone through the whole Internet by now," said Buffy glumly. Willow frowned. Xander briefly paused the wolfing down of his spaghetti and meatballs to look at them, but his mouth was far too full for him to speak without the risk of spraying them with bits of noodle and marinara sauce. Oz merely sat there, looking pensive as usual, while Cordelia gave a slightly disdainful sniff and continued eyeing her reflection critically in the small compact mirror in her hand.

"But we have to find out what's causing these dreams so we can make them stop," said Willow.

Buffy shrugged. "I think they have stopped. I haven't had any for a few nights now." She lied. In reality, she was now having the dreams every single night. But as heart-wrenching as they always were, the part of her that secretly wanted them to continue so that she could feel that much closer to Angel had been growing stronger ever since she realized it was there. If continued research would ultimately mean putting a stop to the dreams and never seeing Angel again, then she didn't want to find out what they meant.

"Really?" said Willow brightly. "Buffy, that's great!"

Buffy pasted on a smile to match Willow's. "Yep!" she said.

"Good job, Buff," said Xander, who had just finished his spaghetti. "Now you can finally step out into a productive, Angel-free existence."

Xander had made it perfectly clear on several occasions that, to him, her dreams were almost as bad as if she had continued dating Angel after he lost his soul. Every time the subject had come up, she had insisted angrily that the ensouled Angel was the only one her subconscious had ever shown her, and also pointed out that if it hadn't been for Angel, Xander would have been dead several times over. Even though Xander usually backed off at that point, it was obvious that he wasn't convinced. Consequently, it took all of Buffy's self-control to keep the fake smile in place and stop herself from smacking the smugly contented expression off of Xander's face.

"And if you're not still gun-shy from the whole Scott thing," said Cordelia rather indifferently, not taking her eyes off her reflection, "I think that Ben guy from math last year is still interested."

"Yeah," said Buffy, "yeah, maybe." Willow and Xander seemed satisfied, and even though Oz was watching her closely enough to make her slightly uncomfortable, he said nothing.

[o]

By the time they made it to the library that afternoon, Buffy half regretted lying to her friends, but only because they had become so keen to get her dating again that it would have been obnoxious even if the dreams really had stopped and she wanted to move on.

Her guilt gave another twinge when she saw Giles standing behind the counter, organizing a pile of books that needed reshelving. He still had thick bandages on his head over the places where Mrs. Post had struck him with the wooden statue and he was taking a prescribed pain medication with his tea, but was otherwise perfectly healthy. Buffy had been so terrified when she'd seen him on that gurney. For a few terrible seconds, she'd thought she was going to lose him. And now she would have to lie to him.

"Guess what, Giles?" said Willow, bounding up to the counter.

Giles looked up from his stack of books. "What?" he asked.

"Buffy stopped having the dreams!" she said happily. Buffy winced, but managed to arrange her features into the fake smile in time for Giles to look at her.

"Have you really?" he asked, sounding both serious and pleased.

"Yeah," said Buffy. "So! Unless those dreams where you're suddenly naked in public require research too, it looks like you guys are off the hook." Next to her, Xander grinned in an unfocused sort of way, which earned him an irritated whack on the shoulder from Cordelia.

"If you still want closure, I'll keep looking," said Giles earnestly.

"Thanks, but I'm really okay. I'd rather just get on with my life now," said Buffy, ignoring the unpleasant squirming of her stomach. She wished she and Faith hadn't left things so tense after their fight; she could really have used one of their grueling sparring sessions to vent some of her inner turmoil. But she supposed she'd have to make do with patrolling for the time being. _And after that_, added an unbidden voice at the back of her mind,_ it'll be time to go back to sleep_....

[o]

Over the next few days, Wesley did not attempt to strike up conversation whenever he ventured down to the dungeon to bring blood to Angelus. He no longer knew what to think. Everything he had ever learned told him that the creature in that cell was a monster void of feeling, but, to his ever-increasing disquiet, everything he witnessed with his own eyes and ears told him otherwise. And even when Wesley himself did not speak, Angelus always thanked him before he could leave the cell with the previous day's empty bottle.

One day, when he noticed that the sickly, starvation-induced gauntness Angelus had acquired under the meager rations Smith had given him was now completely gone, it occurred to Wesley that perhaps the vampire's civility had indeed been an act. Angelus was surely as strong as or stronger than he'd been during the tournament by now, and the chains holding him were not indestructible. His politeness could simply be a way to make Wesley drop his guard and keep the improved rations coming.

And so, from that point on, the extra blood became, instead of merely an attempt to gain Angelus's favor in hopes of loosening his tongue, a rather foolish experiment. Ignoring the part of his brain telling him that things could become very fatal for him if he was right, Wesley convinced himself that Angelus would soon use his restored strength to make a bid for freedom. But he was wrong. Not once did Angelus make the slightest movement suggestive of an attempt to break free of his restraints. He merely sat there, thanking Wesley for the blood, his expression ranging from brooding to anguished.

There went the last of Wesley's logical explanations.

* * *

Come on, Wes, think on your own! You can do it! You're already so close! So, yeah, here's the intermission chapter between the alternate "Revelations" and "Lovers Walk". Not so much with the action, but pretty heavy with the internal stuff of the main characters. Buffy is shutting out her friends in order to protect a secret morbid desire, Angel is still grieving, and Wesley's preconceived notions about him are taking further critical hits. Bwaha.


	12. Trust

Spike's repeat of his grand entrance from the year before was somewhat marred by the fact that he was completely plastered. Instead of swaggering out of his '58 Dodge Desoto, he fell out and landed ungracefully on the asphalt. His visit to the factory, where he found several of Drusilla's dolls (now charred like everything else in the place), did nothing to improve his violent depression. But he hadn't just come back to Sunnydale to mope. Angelus was going to pay for taking Dru away from him.

He spent the day at the factory, then made his way drunkenly to Crawford Street once the sun had set. When he arrived at the mansion, however, the windows were dark. He staggered across the courtyard and looked through one, but nobody was there. "Not here, are you?" he slurred. "Then where've you gone off to? Not dead, I know that. You don't think I'll find you? I'll show you who's the…cool guy." He turned, intending to find his car again, but hadn't gone two steps before he tripped over one of the cement flowerbeds and landed face-first on the ground.

[o]

Wesley was now nearing the end of his third week of delivering blood to Angelus, and his long unsated curiosity was beginning to wear thin on his patience. Even so, he was reluctant to disturb the perpetual melancholia the vampire seemed to be in by asking him questions about his past and his motives—out of respect for his _feelings_, a voice in his head pointed out mockingly. When he tried to contradict this and could not, he realized with a jolt that it was true. He had observed far more humanity than demonic behavior from Angelus, and without being conscious of it, he had started to see him as an equal; a fellow human being—in spite of everything he had read, and material like that wasn't easily discounted. Even giving him his blood in bottles instead of bags contributed to the illusion that he was just another bloke.

To Wesley's further surprise, he actually found himself pitying Angelus: alone, chained in a dungeon, and only not starving because he, Wesley, thought he'd be more forthcoming on a full stomach. He picked up the Claddagh ring from his desk and looked at it. Its existence, if not its role in Angelus's return from Hell, was beginning to make sense. If Angelus had behaved the same way as he did now when he was not imprisoned—during those long, unrecorded years, perhaps—then Wesley could sort of see how a sympathetic and kind-hearted woman may have come to care for him, and if he cared for her in return, he might have given her the ring. But if that were true, what had the ring been doing on the floor in that mansion?

There was nothing for it. Whether he respected Angelus's feelings or not, his own speculations were not enough. He was going to have to get to the bottom of this and that meant he would have to do more than switch out the bottles of blood when he went down there later that day. Wesley looked at the ring for another long moment before putting it back on his desk, collecting his briefcase and blazer, and leaving the flat.

[o]

Spike was awoken the next day by his hand catching fire in the morning sunlight. With a yell of pain, he leapt up, ran to the fountain, and plunged the burning appendage into the water. But in doing so, he had walked into several other rays of sunlight. With another shout, he pulled his duster over his head and made a mad dash for his car and threw himself within its blacked-out confines. The moment of danger past, he spotted his half-empty liquor bottle and poured equal amounts down his throat and on the ugly red burn on his hand.

Well, that had gone brilliantly, he thought. Time for a different attack plan. He was going to make Angelus suffer, but first, he needed to _find_ his bastard of a grand-sire. And he knew just the way to kill both of those birds with the same stone.

Considering that Spike was still very drunk, unable to use both hands, and only had about ten square inches of windshield through which he could actually see, it was quite a miracle that he managed to get all the way to the magic shop across town without causing a pileup. After leaving his car in the shadowy alley behind the shop, he went in through the back door, spotted a shelf full of spellbooks, and began rummaging through its contents.

"Did you come in through the back?" asked the rather bewildered shopkeeper upon catching sight of him.

"Yeah," he said, turning to face her. "I need a tracking spell. And a curse."

"A what?" she asked. She wished she hadn't come so close; the man reeked of liquor and cigarettes.

"A curse!" he repeated in exasperation. "You know, something nasty." He thought for a moment. "Boils! I wanna give him boils all over his face. You know, dripping pustules. Let's really go for the gusto here."

"I'm hearing a lot of negative energy," said the shopkeeper, who was now trying to come up with a polite way of getting rid of him, "and I bet—"

Spike wasn't listening to her. "Leprosy!" he said decisively. "Alright, a spell that makes his parts fall off. That sounds proper." He scowled, too incensed to smirk with pleasure at the idea of making "the one with the angelic face" look like a half-rotted corpse.

"We don't carry...leprosy," said the shopkeeper uncomfortably. She was rescued from her awkward half of the conversation by the tinkle of the bell at the front door. "Would you excuse me for a moment?" she said, but, happy for an excuse to get away from this unpleasant customer, she didn't wait for an answer before going to greet the anxious-looking redhead who had just entered.

Spike, recognizing the redhead as one of the Slayer's friends, moved farther into the shadows of the back of the shop to eavesdrop without her noticing him.

"Blessed be," said the shopkeeper. "Anything in particular I can help you find?"

"Yeah," said Willow, holding up a notepad and showing it to the shopkeeper. "It's all here on the list. Skink root, essence of rose thorn, canary feathers..."

The shopkeeper interrupted her with a knowing smile. "Aha!" she said. "A love spell. Want that old lover to come back to you?" At these words, Spike began to pay much closer attention. "Are you sure you know what you're doing, hon?"

Willow became visibly flustered. "No. Oh, I mean, yes! I—I know how to do a love spell, but this is more of an _anti_-love spell. Yeah. Uh, kind of a de-lusting? The supplies are basically the same, right?"

"Basically," said the shopkeeper, moving to the shelves to gather ingredients. "Although, raven feathers tend to breed a little more discontent than canary. Let me just get some things..."

Spike watched them complete their transaction, his desire for revenge forgotten as a much more satisfying plan formed in his mind. Finally, the redhead left with another tinkle of the bell, and the shopkeeper reluctantly came back over to him.

"So, did you find a spell book?" she asked.

Spike emerged from behind the bookcase in full vamp face and seized her by the neck. "Forget the book," he said as she gasped in terror. He pulled her against him and sank his fangs into her throat. Her legs gave out and he went down with her, still hungrily draining her blood. When he was finished, he looked up at the door through which Willow had gone. "I just got a better idea."

[o]

When Wesley opened his cell door that day, Angel finally identified what had been missing for at least a week. There was no longer any fear on his scent. Angel didn't have time to think about what that could mean, however, before Wesley was walking towards him. He came to a halt a good six feet closer to him than either he or Smith had ever come before—the exceptions being the times when Smith had come close enough to hit and kick him—and held out the new bottle of blood.

Angel stared at it, then looked up at Wesley, surprised. "A little closer than minimum safe distance there, aren't you?" he said, reaching up to take the bottle.

"Am I?" asked Wesley. He had not retreated after Angel took the bottle, but continued to stand politely just beyond Angel's personal space but easily within the area in which his chains would permit him to move. "I don't believe that matters."

"Doesn't it?" said Angel. Slowly, he got to his feet to look Wesley directly in the eyes. Even though Wesley was slightly taller than him, it was still quite an intimidating move, but Wesley remained where he was and held Angel's gaze determinedly.

"When you were fighting Erebus, you saved that student. It was the perfect opportunity to go on a killing spree, which, indeed, Erebus seemed to realize. But instead of taking that opportunity, you chose to kill him, and, in doing so, placed yourself back in the hands of the Council."

"I would have been outnumbered fifty to one," said Angel, shrugging. "Not generally the kind of odds I'd call favorable, no matter how strong I am. If I had let Erebus kill that kid, we both would've had crossbow bolts through our hearts before he could even finish draining him. It wasn't much of a choice. So what makes you think I won't kill you now? I mean—it might be because of you that I'm not being starved anymore, but what's in your veins would still make one hell of a better meal than cold pig's blood."

"Perhaps," said Wesley, calmly pushing his glasses farther up on his nose. "But I think we both know that for days—if not full weeks, it has been quite within the range of your abilities to free yourself from these chains. You could have killed me well before now, taken my keys, and escaped. Obviously, you haven't."

"Could you possibly be giving me the benefit of the doubt, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce?" asked Angel incredulously.

"Wesley," he corrected, starting to smile. "And yes, I am."

Angel blinked. He hadn't expected for Wesley to call his bluff at all, let alone with this much resolve. "After everything you read?" He found it hard to believe, but was certain that nobody could have _told_ Wesley to do this, and he still didn't smell like fear.

"Well, as it happens, those records are rather woefully incomplete. One can hardly know what to believe from them alone." Wesley hesitated for a moment, his tone becoming uncertain and tentative for the first time. "I was actually hoping to get a first-hand account."

"It's not like I've got anything else to occupy my time," said Angel with a dry chuckle.

Unable to contain his glee, Wesley broke into a full grin. "Excellent!" he said. When Angel raised his eyebrows, Wesley cleared his throat, regained his stiff, professional manner, and stuck out his hand. Angel shook it, once again feeling so touched by a simple gesture that he had difficulty controlling his emotions. Buffy had been the only other person to place herself at his mercy after learning what he was and what he had done. It was the most powerful demonstration of trust a human could show him, and he couldn't help trusting the young Watcher for it in return.

Wesley turned to go. Before he got to the door, Angel called out to him. "Wesley," he said. He stopped and faced him again. "You might have better luck with the records if you look up information about the Kalderash clan in Romania. Eighteen ninety-eight." Wesley nodded. Angel picked up the previous day's empty bottle and tossed it to him. "And thanks," he added.

* * *

Okay, I know I barely changed the Spike scenes, but he's so funny when he's drunk that I couldn't bring myself to abbreviate them any further. And this installment's conversation between Angel and Wesley was HARD to write. I liked having Angel challenge Wesley's evidence that he's not quite as murderous as the records describe anymore, because he was never one to plead innocent. Also, I love it when Wesley can't contain his excitement. It's hilarious.


	13. Unjust Deserts

Okay, just in case some of you haven't seen "Lovers Walk" recently, I'll remind you of the scenes I'm skipping because they're still the same as in canon in my version and to include them would be fairly redundant. Buffy discussed college with her mom and then Giles (but not Angel, what with the whole him being in a dungeon in London thing), Xander and Willow continued to spaz about how they won't be able to hide their secret make-out sessions for much longer, Willow decided to do that de-lusting spell, and she was working on it with Xander in the chem lab when they were attacked and dragged to the old factory by Spike, who then threatened Willow until she agreed to do a love spell to bring Drusilla back to him. Also, the Mayor heard Spike was back in town and sent a gang of vamps after him.

* * *

Well, this night was sure destined to be fun, thought Buffy sarcastically. Giles was at his retreat thing in the forest, Oz, Willow, Xander, and Cordelia were doing double-date bowling, and her mom was still in her overbearing euphoria about the excellent SAT scores Buffy had achieved, and would undoubtedly want to parade her in front of yet more extended family members she hadn't seen in years or point her out to far away colleges she'd never heard of. All in all, not the recipe for Buffy's best evening ever.

Her only even semi-appealing option was to train in the library, and she was about thirty seconds into her solitary workout when she remembered that there was someone she hadn't thought of who might want to share it. After thinking about it for a moment, she decided that she was bored enough to bury the hatchet. Predictably, Faith was keen enough for violence to do the same, and had soon joined her.

Perhaps their workout looked more like Buffy versus Faith: Round II than a normal sparring match though, because when Oz and Cordelia came bursting into the library, their already worried expressions became even more alarmed.

"Uh," said Oz, looking from one Slayer to the other.

"We're not interrupting a death match, are we?" asked Cordelia.

"What?" said Buffy, whose fist had been about to collide with the side of Faith's head. "Pfft, no. That was just regular sparring!" She dropped her fighting stance and (with what seemed to be much greater reluctance) Faith did the same.

"Yeah," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "We're cool."

"Good," said Oz. "Something's up."

[o]

The "something" turned out to be evidence of witchcraft and foul play in the science lab, which would have been the meeting place for the double date, except that there was no sign of Xander and Willow. Starting to get seriously worried, they split up; Oz and Cordelia leaving to get Giles, and Buffy and Faith returning to the library to stock up on weapons before they would hit the streets to look for the missing pair.

Faith was just tossing Buffy a stake from the cabinet to throw into the bag with the rest of the arsenal they'd already crammed into it, when the phone rang. Buffy seized it at once. "Giles?"

"Hi, Buffy." It was her mom. "You still working out?"

"Uh, no, Mom, actually—," Buffy began, only to be cut off by the aforementioned overbearing euphoria she'd come to the school to escape.

"I was hoping that we could schedule a college talk later tonight," she said eagerly. "I admit I…overreacted before. You don't have to go all the way across the country. I, um, picked up some brochures from some nearby schools, okay?"

"That's great, but now's really not a good time...," said Buffy, while Faith gestured urgently at her from the weapons cabinet.

"Hello, Joyce," came a familiar and very unwelcome voice from the other end. Buffy's eyes widened in horror, and she dropped the phone.

"We have to get to my house _now_," she said. Faith nodded and shouldered the bag of weapons, and together they sprinted from the room.

[o]

When they arrived at 1630 Revello Drive, Buffy was momentarily incapacitated by the entirely unexpected sight of Spike and her mother having hot chocolate in the kitchen. Once she had convinced herself that she was not hallucinating, however, she burst into the room with Faith hot on her heels, seized Spike by the front of his shirt, and slammed him down on the counter.

"Buffy! Faith!" cried an alarmed Joyce, "He—you—what's going on?"

"You shouldn't have come back, Spike," said Buffy.

"I do what I please," he sneered.

"Okay, I-I'm confused again," said Joyce, moving to stand by the sink. Spike attempted to grab Buffy's arm, but Faith caught his wrist in a vice-like grip and pinned it back to the island, while Buffy snatched up a wooden spoon and raised it over his chest to stake him.

"Willow!" he said hastily, eyeing the end of the spoon with fearful apprehension.

"You took Willow," said Buffy, interpreting his plea correctly.

"Doesn't do much for his chances, does it?" Faith asked Buffy derisively.

"You do me now, you'll never find the little witch," said Spike.

"Willow's a witch?" asked Joyce, more confused than ever.

"And Xander?" asked Buffy.

"Him, too," said Spike.

"What? Xander's a witch?" said Joyce, but she was still being ignored by all three of them. "I—"

Faith grabbed a fistful of Spike's shirt and pulled him closer. "Where are they?" she asked.

Spike shoved her off. "New Slayer, huh? Well, it doesn't work like that, love." He looked at Buffy again. "Your friend's gonna work a little magic for me. She does my spell, I let them both go."

"You're not famous for keeping your promises, Spike," she replied coldly. Never coming back to Sunnydale, for one, she thought.

"Well, you two wanna tag along, that's fine. But you get in my way, and _you_ kill your friends."

[o]

As they drew nearer to the magic shop, Faith leaned towards Buffy, her eyes on Spike. "Too bad the guy's dead, 'cause, talk about lickable, right?" she said appreciatively, nudging Buffy in the side and raking her gaze up and down Spike's figure in an alarmingly hungry fashion. Spike smirked. Buffy, on the other hand, looked completely revolted—something he did not fail to notice.

"Don't give me that," he said, scowling. "I don't recall you objecting much with Angel."

Faith raised her eyebrows interestedly as she looked from him to Buffy, whose expression became several degrees more murderous. Spike, being Spike, plowed right ahead anyway. "You wouldn't happen to have seen Peaches around lately, would you? Thought I might get in a spot of revenge while I was waiting on that whole love spell thing to come together."

"Great," said Buffy flatly. "Well, you missed your chance for that. Angel's dead." Her glare faltered and she swallowed painfully.

"Shows what you know," he snorted. Off Buffy's sharp look of angry confusion, he continued to scoff. "Oh, please. You think I wouldn't be able to tell if the poofter'd been offed? He's my bloody grand-sire! It was the same thing with the Master and Darla. Would Dru and I have turned up in this sodding town in the first place if we hadn't known they were dust?_ Not_ bloody likely."

"Go to Hell, Spike," said Buffy bitterly. "You'll have to if you want to get that revenge."

"Oho," he said, grinning wickedly, "so that's where he's gone. Makes sense. Sending him through on the end of that sword wouldn't have killed him." He snickered. "Even better."

He had finally crossed a line, and was too busy being delighted at the thought of Angel in Hell to see Buffy's fist headed directly for his face. It made very audible contact, and Spike staggered back.

"Does this mean we're skipping to the part where we dust him?" asked Faith, raising her stake.

Very reluctantly, Buffy refrained from hitting Spike several more times. "No. We still need him to find the others."

Spike wiped blood from his freshly split lip and glared at them. "Bloody right you do."

[o]

When Wesley entered the cell that day, in addition to the usual cargo of bottle, lantern, and keys, he was carrying a rather battered-looking old book beneath his arm. He quickly hung the lantern on the hook just inside the door and put the keys in his pocket, then walked over to trade bottles with Angel.

"Thank you," said Angel.

"You're welcome," said Wesley, now holding up the book. "I took your advice," he said before Angel could ask, and began to pace the length of the cell. "The stack I found this on in the Council's library was so thickly coated in dust that it hardly looked like a stack at all. There were even a couple of mouse skeletons on the bottom shelf. Apparently, Watchers don't generally set much store by Gypsy magic, and when a book only mentions the spell, rather than actually giving the ingredients, incantation, and ritual required to perform it, they tend to disregard it completely. Having read it myself, however, I find that this was a rather foolish move on their part."

Angel was quite impressed that Wesley had already had this much success with the suggestion he gave him. He watched him expectantly, but said nothing. "In eighteen ninety-eight, the Kalderash clan was plagued by a series of attacks from the same four vampires. They tried unsuccessfully to keep them at bay for some weeks, until the eldest daughter of the clan leader was abducted. The following day, they found her body, which had been brutally violated and drained of blood, displayed in the very place from which she was taken."

Angel closed his eyes, grimacing as the vivid memories rose to the surface. This reaction did not go unnoticed by Wesley, but he continued his paraphrased account as though nothing had happened. "The passage doesn't identify the vampire responsible or any of his three companions by name, but anyone who has troubled to pay attention when reading about you would recognize the modus operandi immediately. The girl's fate ignited the vengeful wrath of the rest of the clan like nothing else could."

He stopped pacing and looked directly at Angel. "And as a result, they ensured that you would live out the rest of your immortal days in guilt-stricken anguish. In other words, they restored your human soul." When Angel opened his eyes, Wesley thought he could see the centuries of weariness behind them. His grip on the book's frayed cover tightened. "The Kalderash should have been drawn and quartered for what they did to you," he said angrily.

"What?" asked Angel, who was sure, in spite of his preternatural hearing, that he had misheard.

"They weren't punishing the demon responsible for their daughter's death; they were punishing an innocent human being who'd had nothing to do with it!"

"I was no innocent," said Angel in tones of self-disgust.

"You were no monster, either, but they still forced you to take the memories and responsibility for a century and a half of unspeakable sadism and depravity that would inevitably turn your very mind into your own personal Hell. They must have been absolutely barking mad to view that as an appropriate revenge!" Wesley's voice had grown steadily louder and more outraged through the entire outburst, so that by the time he fell silent, he was positively quivering with indignation.

Angel simply stared at him. He'd never looked at his situation from that perspective before. After all, it wasn't as if it was easy to dismiss everything he'd done without a soul as being not his fault, when he had first person recollections of all of it. The sight of faces white with terror. The tangy smell of fear curling like perfume from human pores. The smooth metallic taste of the blood of countless victims. The feel of bones snapping like twigs beneath his fingers. The sound of the screams of men he tortured, the sobs of women he ravaged, the whimpers of children who were forced to watch what he did to their parents before he did it to them.

No. He very much appreciated that Wesley could defend him so fervently in spite of his past, but he could not see himself the same way. As far as he was concerned, he deserved Hell. Ironically, he had been sent there by the only person other than Wesley who had ever thought otherwise—and who still did, if the dreams were any indication. The question now was why he was back.

Not knowing what to say in response to Wesley defending his character more adamantly than he would defend it himself, Angel changed the subject. "How long before they start to wonder upstairs why you're still down here?"

Wesley looked horrified. "That would be about now." He hurriedly caught up the lantern again and pulled out his keys. Before he was out of the door, he turned. "Would you like me to bring you something to read tomorrow?"

"As long as it's not the _Divina Comedia_," said Angel with a completely straight face.

Wesley gave something between a cough and a snicker, which momentarily ruined his air of poise and dignity. "No, I don't imagine that one would interest you much."

"Got any Sartre?"

* * *

This chapter's title, as almost all of the others, makes me happy. Anyway, check it out! Angel made a joke! And, incidentally, in the canon "Lovers Walk", he was actually reading _La Nausée_ by Jean-Paul Sartre. Also, what with the upcoming battle against like twenty vamps at the magic shop in spite of the absence of Angel, I thought Buffy and Spike would need some extra help, so I worked Faith into the story. I figured that Buffy calling Faith up to work out would be a reasonable deviation from canon, considering her extra loneliness from the continued lack of Angel, and once the action started, there was no way Faith wouldn't want to be in the thick of it. Now then, Wesley! If there was one area he was always competent at in canon (except when trying to find out about the Ascension), it was research. I love that he cares more about the badness that's happened to Angel than Angel does. It is very frustrating that I cannot hug him.


	14. You Have Your Therapy, I have Mine

"Oh, God," said Spike, staring at a bench.

Buffy and Faith looked at each other, nonplussed. "Now what?" asked Faith irritably. A couple of minutes earlier, he had annoyed them both by complaining rather pathetically as his hangover commenced.

"We killed a homeless man on this bench. Me and Dru. Those were good times." Spike sat down on the bench, looking wistful. "He begged for mercy," he went on, chuckling, "and, you know, that only made her bite harder." He turned to see both Slayers glaring stonily at him, their urge to slay rising.

"I guess you had to be there," said Buffy.

[o]

Soon, they reached the magic shop, the door of which was crisscrossed with police tape. Ignoring this, they went inside and began to gather the ingredients necessary for the spell, and, upon being told rather coldly to find the rat's eyes, Spike sank into another emotional reminiscence.

"I used to bring her rats. With the morning paper," he said.

"Great," said Buffy. "More moping. That's gonna get her back."

"The _spell_'s gonna get her back," he retorted, returning to his usual abrasive tone.

"Isn't this kinda a lot of trouble for someone who doesn't even care about you?" Faith mocked.

"Shut your gob!" Spike snarled at her.

"Sorry, it's just; lady sounds kinda flaky," she continued carelessly.

"_Shut up!_" he shouted, lunging at Faith, who blocked his attack and punched him squarely on the jaw.

"Girl's got a point," said Buffy, unable to resist, "she must _really_ not want you if you have to resort to magic to get her back."

"What do you know?" he demanded, his voice starting to crack again. "It's your fault! You and Angel both! She belongs with me!" The fight went out of him and he let out a sob. "I'm nothing without her."

"That I'll have to agree with," Buffy snorted. "You're pathetic, you know that? You're not even a loser anymore; you're a _shell_ of a loser."

"You're one to talk," Spike shot back before resuming the search for rat's eyes.

"Meaning?" asked Buffy coolly.

He laughed scornfully. "You call me pathetic, but you're in the same boat. And I bet you've got every one of those sods you call friends fooled, too."

Buffy had no reply to this, and Spike turned back to the shelf, his expression smug. "Eye of rat," he said a few seconds later, pulling out a glass bottle full of what looked like red and white tadpoles.

[o]

They left the shop shortly thereafter, each carrying a brown paper bag full of ingredients.

"Okay, Spike," said Buffy, "we got the stuff. Where are they?"

"What's your hurry?" he asked.

"My hurry is my intense desire to get you out of my life," she said. "You tend to cause trouble."

"I'll be out of your life in a few short hours," he said sourly. "No trouble at all." Faith looked slightly disappointed, but this went quite unnoticed, because they suddenly found themselves surrounded by a gang of vampires.

"Hello, Spike," said the one directly in front of them.

"No trouble at all," Buffy repeated dryly.

"Lenny!" said Spike jovially. "How've you been?"

"Better, since you left," the vampire replied, his lip curling. "You should've stayed gone."

"Is that right?" asked Spike, tossing his bag aside in preparation for a fight.

"You know," Buffy told Lenny, "he was just leaving." She rounded on Spike threateningly. "Don't you start anything," she growled.

Spike let out a noise of disgust. "This piss-ant used to work for me!"

Buffy groaned and turned to Faith. "The guys are in trouble," she said. "We can't risk this."

Faith gave her an incredulous look. "You kidding? This just turned into my kind of party. Thanks for the invitation." She dropped her bag too. Lenny, however, only seemed to be interested in Spike.

"You other two can walk away from this," he said, waving them off.

Sensing Buffy's eagerness to take this invitation to leave, Spike spoke up quickly. "I die, your chums die," he said, still looking at Lenny.

"Sorry," said Buffy resignedly to Lenny. "We're staying."

"Not for long," he said, leering.

Buffy threw her bag in his face, and within seconds, a full-on street fight had broken out, each of them fighting a third of Lenny's gang at once. Buffy's fight took her to the next-door coffee shop, which had long since closed for the night. Three vampires tried to corner her, but she picked up a table and smashed it into one of them, then broke off the handle of a mop and used it to stake the other two at once. Meanwhile, Spike was standing on top of a black car parked on the side of the street, sending devastating kicks at any vampire that tried to get him down, and Faith was beating her foes back with a long metal pipe she'd found on the floor of the alley into which they'd chased her.

Buffy, Faith, and Spike all met up in front of the magic shop again during a brief lull in the fight, only to have at least ten vampires converge on them. Weaponless and outnumbered, they retreated into the shop and bolted the door shut behind them. Spike and Faith quickly moved a large bookcase in front of the window while Buffy broke the legs off a chair to make stakes for each of them.

"This should be a kick," said Spike as they all faced the window, chair legs at the ready.

"I violently dislike you," said Buffy. A second later, there was a crashing sound from behind them, and they whipped around just in time to see several of the vampires come bursting in through the back door. They ran to confront them, Faith flipping one of them across a table and staking him before slamming the door shut again. Buffy shoved another vampire against the ladder on a large bookcase and plunged her stake into his chest, before rounding on another, while Spike and the one he was wrestling fell against a set of shelves mounted on the wall, which crashed loudly to the floor with them.

Despite Faith's efforts, the back door was torn completely from its hinges and landed heavily on top of her, leaving her temporarily dazed and pinning her beneath it. Lenny and another of his cronies stepped on the door as they entered, then made directly for Spike, who had momentarily subdued his earlier opponent.

"I heard you'd gone soft," Lenny jeered. "Sad to see it, man."

"_Soft_?" Spike repeated furiously.

"Yeah," said Lenny, "like baby food." Behind Spike, the first vampire was getting to his feet, but he smiled, undaunted.

"Well, then, let's give baby a taste," he said. He simultaneously back-kicked the one creeping up behind him in the groin and dodged Lenny's punch, landing a blow of his own instead, before seizing Lenny by the jacket and smashing his face into a nearby table.

Faith threw the door off of her and jumped up to help Buffy with her vampire. Together, they managed to stake him within seconds, but bookcase blocking the front window trembled ominously.

"Not good," said Buffy.

"B," said Faith, looking in a different direction, a smirk spreading across her face. Buffy followed her gaze to a shelf full of vials of holy water. "Found the stock of Holy Hand Grenades."

Spike was still busy bashing Lenny's face repeatedly against the tabletop. "Baby like his supper? Baby like his supper?" He flipped him over the table. "Why doesn't Baby have a nap!" He drove his stake violently into Lenny's chest and grinned with the thrill of the kill.

"Spike, get down!" Buffy shouted, just as the bookcase barricade crashed to the ground and five or six vampires came bursting in. Spike ducked, and Buffy and Faith began to pelt the newcomers with the vials. They recoiled, steam billowing from their skin wherever the water made contact. Before the two Slayers had run out of their artillery, the vampires ran for it, back through the broken window and off down the street.

Spike stood up and watched them flee with an expression of deep satisfaction. "Now _that_ was fun," he declared. Faith looked as though she wholeheartedly agreed, but Buffy was incredulous. Noticing this, he rolled his eyes, still grinning. "Oh, don't _tell_ me that wasn't fun. God. It's been so long since I had a decent spot of violence." He paused thoughtfully. "Really puts things into perspective."

"Could we please just do the spell now?" asked Buffy in weary irritation.

"Oh, sod the spell," said Spike, waving a hand dismissively. "Your friends are at the factory." Buffy and Faith glared at him in exasperation, but he was grinning cheerily again and not paying attention. "I'm really glad I came here, you know? I've been all wrong-headed about this. Weeping, crawling, blaming everybody else. I want Dru back, I've just got to be the man I was." He stood up straighter, looking proud. "The man she loved. I'm gonna do what I should've done in the first place: I'll find her, wherever she is, tie her up, torture her until she likes me again."

"You are seriously screwed up, you know that?" asked Faith.

He shrugged, making his way jauntily towards the exit. "Love's a funny thing."

"Yeah, well, that torturing thing goes south," she called brazenly, "I'll be here if you ever need some warm comfort."

"Faith!" Buffy hissed, scandalized, but Spike had already left.

[o]

The scene at the factory was not a fun one. While paramedics pulled an unconscious Cordelia from the collapsed stairwell, Xander tagging fearfully along in their wake, Oz was the one to explain to Buffy and Faith what had happened. Buffy was utterly shocked when he told them, hurt and anger coloring his usually detached monotone, that he and Cordy had found their respective significant others locked together in a passionate kiss when they arrived at the factory to rescue them. She couldn't believe it, but when she looked at Willow, who was standing a short distance away, her expression overflowing with self-hatred and shame, she knew it had to be true.

[o]

About half an hour later, once she had arrived back at home, Buffy was very glad to be done with this entirely-too-hectic day, and she fell asleep almost the instant her head hit the pillow.

Her eyes opened to the scene she now knew as well as any place she'd ever been to during her waking hours. She turned slowly until she saw Angel, who was sitting, as usual, in the corner, brooding with such intensity that Buffy was almost surprised that he wasn't burning holes into the floor with his stare. Despite this, there seemed to be less misery and hopelessness in his features than there had been before. She smiled. Faith and Spike might find violence to be therapeutic, but she preferred this, no matter how bittersweet it was.

* * *

Once again, Faith seems to be fluctuating between wanting to slay Spike and wanting to shag him. So, yeah, I think that's about right. Sorry about the very limited Angel involvement and complete lack of Wesley involvement in this one; I mostly just wanted to get "Lovers Walk" over with, and I couldn't figure out any good ways to shorten it more. Also, I'm pretty much going to skip "The Wish", because Cordy's alternate reality has nothing to do with this story. Just a heads up on that. Cheers!


	15. Holiday Blues

Every day following Wesley's discovery of Angel's curse, right through the middle of December, he would bring a new book for Angel to read during the long, lonely hours between his visits, in exchange for which Angel recounted to him those parts of his past that weren't written in any of the Council's records. This wasn't the sole topic for discussion, however. Sometimes, Wesley would ask his advice on whatever he happened to be researching at the time and, after discovering just how many languages in which Angel was fluent, he occasionally brought documents in need of translation for the vampire to look over.

All of this could be done in increments of only a few minutes at a time, because Wesley knew none of the other Watchers who worked at headquarters would be very understanding if they discovered that he was becoming fast friends with their undead prisoner, soul or no soul. In an unhelpful twist of fate, Angel never said anything to make Wesley realize that he thought they were in the year twenty ninety-eight, and in turn, Wesley never said anything to disabuse him of this notion.

Despite his continued ignorance of his current temporal setting, Angel was the happiest he'd been in that dungeon so far—though he still had quite a long way to go before he could actually be considered happy by any stretch of the imagination. His dreams of Buffy were a comfort he hoped he would never have to give up, and he now had someone he could actually consider a friend, who confided in him, valued his opinion on any subject that came up, and gave him something to do besides sitting in a depressed stupor during the endless hours in his cell.

As vocal as Angel had always been about his gratitude towards him, Wesley felt more and more that his efforts to improve Angel's situation were woefully inadequate. Whatever Angel said to the contrary, Wesley remained convinced that he was innocent of every crime his soulless counterpart had committed. He already felt the guilt for it and had literally been through Hell; wasn't that punishment enough? He deserved better than confinement to that dark stone cell where he could be used at the Council's disposal. Especially with Christmas so near.

Wesley had considered attempting to break Angel out, but he couldn't think of a way to do this that wouldn't result, one way or another, in Angel being recaptured and him being stripped of his title as Watcher. And that was only the best possible outcome. While he waited for something more foolproof to occur to him, he continued their usual routine. When last he had asked Angel about his past, they had finished covering the two and a half rather depressing decades he'd spent in alleys and sewers, living off rats. They were almost caught up to the present now, and Wesley had decided to save his questions about the Claddagh ring until they reached it.

[o]

Buffy emerged from the shop, her arms laden with many packages and parcels, while her mind was far away. The last few weeks had been tense among her group of friends, of which Cordelia had not been part since her return from the hospital. Oz was almost as distant, but at least he was not treating the rest of them with cold and haughty contempt. Xander had attempted unsuccessfully to laugh off his misery at the consequences of cheating on Cordelia with Willow, but Willow had remained forlorn, upset, and guilt-ridden—not at all her usual bubbly self. She did, at least, seem to be making better headway at repairing the damage she had caused than Xander. Buffy had seen Oz's gaze follow her best friend with unmistakable wistfulness on more than one occasion as they neared the Christmas holiday.

Faith, as the only one unaffected by this drama, had rapidly become the most fun for Buffy to hang out with, their issues resulting from the ordeal with Gwendolyn Post now quite forgotten. But Buffy was loathe to abandon Willow in her unhappy times in favor of partying with Faith, for she had not forgotten how many hours Willow had spent in the library with her during the fall, trying to discover the meaning behind her dreams.

Dreams that continued still, and which Buffy had no desire to see the end of, despite her increasingly defensive assertions to Willow, Xander, Giles, and even her mother that she had moved on but was simply not interested in dating at the moment. She heaved a sigh and dragged her thoughts back to the present, only for her heart to miss a beat before beginning to hammer wildly. There, at the mouth of an alley not thirty feet away…

"Angel?" she gasped, her Christmas shopping tumbling from her arms. She could see his face; it was definitely him. She ran forward, pushing her way through a group of shoppers heading in the other direction, causing them to cry out in indignation. "Angel!" she called more loudly. His gaze found her face, and her breath caught in her throat. But his expression hardened and he turned and disappeared into the alley next to him. Buffy reached the gap between the two buildings and stared desperately into the shadowy space, but Angel was nowhere to be found. She looked down in dismay and noticed that the wet, muddy grime coating the alley floor was undisturbed by footprints. Had she only imagined him, then?

[o]

"Good morning, Angel," said Wesley brightly, hanging the lantern and tossing him a new book.

"Morning, Wes," said Angel. He looked down at the book's cover. "_A Christmas Carol_?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I know you're fond of existentialism," said Wesley, "but I thought this seemed fitting, given that Christmas is only a few days off." He frowned for a moment. "Have I not mentioned that?"

"No, but that's alright," said Angel, chuckling, though he thought that Wesley's choice of holiday entertainment was, perhaps, a little _too_ fitting. They traded bottles, and Angel thanked him as usual.

"Where did we leave off yesterday?"

"With you in…New York, I believe," said Wesley.

"New York." Angel paused thoughtfully and drank some of the blood. "When I was still drinking rats and doing my best homeless guy impression." He gave a short laugh that held more revulsion than humor. "I might have stayed that way for a few more decades if it hadn't been for Whistler."

"Whistler?" asked Wesley.

"Well, that's what he told me his name was, anyway. He made it sound like it wasn't his only one. He was a benign—or at least neutral—demon, and he wasn't going to let me rot down those alleys any longer. I was suspicious at first—I mean, the last time someone came looking for me, already knowing who I was, was during World War II—but even for a self-flagellating guy like me, twenty-five years or so was long enough to live like that. I figured I'd hear him out—I had nothing to lose, right?" His gaze was getting steadily farther away as he relived the memories. "I had no idea how much that decision would change my life."

As usual, Wesley made quite the attentive audience. He was utterly riveted by the tale and always watched Angel's face closely to try to read the emotion that was behind the story. But even though Wesley had proven that Angel could trust him with his life, Angel didn't think he could tell him about Buffy. To talk about her in the past tense would make her death real to him in ways he wasn't ready for.

As the seconds of silence stretched on, the suspense became torturous for Wesley. Noticing this, Angel decided that they could both be content with at least a vague account. "Whistler took me to California. He showed me a girl. She was in high school, and her life, like mine, was about to change forever, but she had no idea what was in store for her. One look at her and I knew I would do anything in my power to protect her." Angel closed his eyes, which were suddenly burning. He had failed.

Even though Wesley was desperately curious, he could see that this was a very difficult topic for Angel. "Why don't we, er, stop there for now?" he offered.

"You sure?" asked Angel.

"I should be getting back anyway," he said, shrugging. "Enjoy the book."

[o]

Buffy couldn't do it anymore. She had to talk to someone. Dreams were one thing, but seeing Angel when she was awake was something else. She had been able to maintain the illusion of normality perfectly well when it was just the dreams, though she was perhaps slightly terser with people than she would have been otherwise, but she wouldn't be able to keep it up if she saw him walking up another street. Biting her lip, she reached out to knock on the door of Willow's balcony, hoping she wasn't making a bad decision by coming to see her this late.

A light turned on within the room, and a second later, Willow opened the door. "Buffy!" she said, surprised. "What are you doing here? N-not that it's not good to—" She broke off, noticing the look on Buffy's face. "What's wrong?"

"Can I come in?" she asked.

"Yeah—sorry, I should've…yeah," said Willow. Buffy entered and closed the door behind her, and she and Willow moved to sit opposite each other on the bed.

Buffy took a deep breath. "Okay. Please don't hate me for this—"

"What?" interrupted Willow. "Why would I hate you? Sorry. What is it?"

"Remember when I said that the dreams stopped?"

"Yeah. Why, did you start having them again?"

"I never…stopped having them," she said.

"Oh." Willow just looked at her for a moment. "Why didn't you tell me? We could have kept researching—"

"I didn't want them to stop, Wil," Buffy admitted, averting her eyes.

"Oh," said Willow again. Knowing a little better now what it felt like to be without the one she loved, she reached out to take Buffy's hand. "You still miss him, don't you?"

Buffy nodded, and her eyes were bright with tears when they met Willow's again. "The dreams, whatever they are, they make me feel like I'm close to him. But today when I went Christmas shopping, I _saw_ him."

"What do you mean?" asked Willow.

"He was just standing there by this alley. I ran over to him, but he was gone."

"Do you think it was like a, uh, hallucination or something?"

"What else could it have been?"

They sat in silence for a while, then Willow straightened up a little. "Could it have been his ghost?"

"That would make me feel a lot more secure about my sanity," said Buffy in a weak attempt at humor. "But why would he come back like that?"

"Could it be because of what happened in May?" asked Willow hesitantly. "The day that—with Acathla?" She squeezed Buffy's hand reassuringly. "You can tell me, Buffy. What happened?"

Buffy sighed. It meant the world to her that Willow was being so understanding and supportive now, but that day was still a subject she didn't like discussing. "I was too slow," she said, swallowing hard and looking down. "I was going to fight Angel before he could get the sword out of Acathla, but one of the minions with pretty impressive ninja skills held me up, and then it was too late. I fought him, I was about to kill him, and then he was back. Maybe if I'd known, I could have bought more time. Killed the other one faster." She looked up from the little yarn pieces knotted on top of Willow's quilt, and was surprised to find Willow staring hard at her.

"You didn't know? What didn't you know?" she asked.

"That you were going to…put his soul back," said Buffy slowly, frowning. Willow's expression was becoming steadily more shocked and horrified.

"But you _should_ have known," she said insistently. "Xander was supposed to tell you I was going to try again."

* * *

More Angel and Wesley bonding! Yay! New unfun for Buffy! Less yay. And here we go with this version of "Amends". Dun-dun-_dun_.


	16. Haunted by the Past

This author's note is devoted to the anonymous reviewers for being so awesome. I'd hug you if I knew who and where you were. And if it wouldn't come across as really creepy.

* * *

The next morning, Buffy and Willow were sitting side-by-side on the table in the library, arms crossed and faces wearing matching expressions of thinly veiled anger as they watched the door and waited. Buffy could barely form coherent thoughts, but Willow's mind was racing. She couldn't believe that her lifelong best friend, the boy she'd been kissing behind Oz's back, could have done something so despicable without acting like a single thing was different. For seven months! And he'd still had the nerve to chastise Buffy for mourning so long! Well, he was done dancing on Angel's proverbial grave, as far as Willow was concerned. Either that, or he was going to find himself with two best friends fewer than he'd had the day before.

Giles could see the two girls sitting there from where he sat in his office. Even though they hadn't told him what this was about, he felt suddenly glad, given their forbidding expressions and postures, that he was not the person whose arrival they awaited. And sure enough, utterly oblivious to the storm that lay before him, that person strolled into the library a few minutes later.

Xander caught sight of Buffy and Willow at once, but didn't register their anger, which was no longer veiled, thinly or otherwise, and walked towards them. "How're my girls?" he asked. His carefree grin faltered when their only reply was to glare daggers at him. "Uh," he said, trying to sound humorous, "what did I do?"

"Gee, let's think. How about not telling Buffy I was going to restore Angel's soul," said Willow coldly. Her eyes filled with tears of hurt in spite of her determination to only show anger. "How could you, Xander?"

Xander said nothing, merely staring from one to the other with the unmistakable air of someone who had just been cornered without having seen it coming.

"I had to send the man I love to Hell," said Buffy through clenched teeth. "Not Angelus; _Angel_. And I might not have had to if I'd known Willow was about to bring him back."

Still glaring at him, they both hopped down from the table and walked past him and out of the library. Xander remained frozen to the spot, as dazed as if their words had bashed him in the face.

Giles emerged from his office, polishing his glasses on a handkerchief. After he put them carefully back on, it was still a full minute before anything else happened.

"Is it true?" he asked.

"You can't tell me you didn't want him dead after what he did to Miss Calendar. After what he did to _you_."

"That is neither here nor there," said Giles. "The soul had nothing to do with any of that, Xander. The soul was innocent. Was your dislike of Angel worth condemning him to Hell and putting Buffy through not only the pain of losing him, but the guilt of having to send him there?"

Xander looked down. It had seemed a simple and justified lie to tell at the time, and he hadn't really given it much thought since he'd told it. With Buffy and Willow's expressions of betrayal and disgust burned into his eyes and the calm rebuke of the one man with more reason to hate Angel than any of them ringing in his ears, however, he suddenly felt sickened by what he had done.

"I screwed up really bad, Giles."

"I'm glad you're aware of that."

[o]

Neither Buffy nor Willow spoke to Xander at all for the rest of the day, but as he still didn't know what to say to them, he didn't make much of an effort to change this, and it wasn't a very pleasant day for any of them. Even Willow's happiness when Oz approached her after school to say he wanted to give their relationship another shot was slightly marred by the rift with Xander.

[o]

That evening, noticing how out-of-spirits her daughter seemed to be, Joyce suggested that they go pick out a Christmas tree. Since Buffy had already invited Faith to spend Christmas Eve with them, she called her up and asked her if she wanted to help them with the tree selection too—though mostly because if Faith was there, it would be harder for her mom to ask her what was wrong. Faith accepted, stating bluntly that she had nothing better to do, and the three of them were soon wandering the tree lot.

"Do you wanna get one with snow on it?" asked Joyce, looking at a group of flocked trees. "It'd be very Christmassy."

"I think those are just for display," said Buffy in a passive-aggressive rejection of the trees. Faith looked around, obviously bored.

"Hey, Mom?" asked Buffy after a few more minutes spent roving amongst the trees. "Do you think we should invite Giles over for Christmas Eve too? I mean, he doesn't have any fam—"

"No, I'm sure he's fine," Joyce interrupted.

"We could ask him and see," said Buffy hopefully. She didn't like the thought of Giles spending Christmas alone at his apartment.

"He doesn't want to spend Christmas Eve with a bunch of girls," said Joyce repressively. She dithered awkwardly for a moment, before suggesting that they split up and walking hastily away through the trees.

"What was that about?" asked Faith.

"No idea," said Buffy. "Mom and Giles have been really wiggy about each other for a while."

"Think they're screwing?"

Buffy gagged. "Ugh. You're paying for all of the hours of therapy I'm gonna need now," she said reproachfully.

"Sorry," said Faith with a shrug.

"Maybe we should split up too," Buffy suggested, still shuddering.

"Whatevs," said Faith, shrugging again. They went off in different directions.

Buffy reached out her hand idly to touch the rough branches as she walked, but she wasn't really paying attention to the trees. What happened with Xander had driven everything else from her mind, including what she'd seen the previous night. She had no idea what it meant. Had he been a hallucination, or a ghost? Spike had said he could tell that Angel was still alive, and that did make sense. After all, swords through the torso didn't kill vampires. She'd sent him to Hell, but she hadn't killed him. Not that it made her feel any better. But if he was still alive, that made the possibility that she'd seen his ghost a lot less possible.

A dark shadow moved a little way in front of her, and she looked up. Her brow furrowed and her pace quickened. After she rounded the next cluster of trees, there he was again. "Angel?" He didn't turn, but kept walking. Buffy ran after him and reached out to grab his arm, but her hand went right through him. "What?" she said, bewildered. She turned to look at him again, but he had vanished. Well, there was more evidence towards the hallucination theory. "What's happening to me?" she asked the unseasonably warm night.

[o]

Faith walked between the trees without interest—at least until she came to several that were shriveled and brown. Her eyes narrowed.

"Bunch of them up and died on us," said the tree merchant, who had just popped out of nowhere. "Don't know why," he went on. "If you want one, I can make you a hell of a deal."

"Uh, no, I'm just here with a friend," said Faith.

"Girls, come here!" came Joyce's voice from another part of the lot. "This one's perfect!" Faith left the merchant right as he was beginning a new angle on his sales pitch. On the way over to Joyce, she ran into Buffy, who was white as a sheet.

"Hey, what's up?" she asked.

"I keep seeing him," said Buffy, sounding hysterical.

"Who?"

"Angel."

Joyce came into view then, calling for them again, but she hadn't seen them yet. Buffy shook herself and looked at Faith imploringly. "Don't say anything. She doesn't know."

"Yeah, sure," said Faith, looking concerned. "No problem."

"Thanks."

"You talked to Giles about this yet?"

"No. I will, though."

[o]

Yellow eyes watched Joyce from several trees away. The vampire they belonged to began to follow her, but stopped when she met up with two young women, one blonde and the other brunette. He snarled to be deprived of his prey, but as his eyes remained on the group of women, and a plan involving much more than a simple meal occurred to him. From the way the first woman interacted with the blonde, he could tell that they were mother and daughter. Oh, yes, this was going to be fun.

A familiar sharp pain attacked his head, and he slunk away, fumbling in his pockets for his pills. Once the pain had subsided to a dull ache, he followed the women from a distance as they left the lot with an exceptionally well-proportioned tree.

[o]

"I'll understand if this is something you'd rather not discuss," said Wesley, but no matter how hard he'd tried to keep the hopeful curiosity from his voice, Angel still heard it.

"It's okay, Wes," he said.

"Alright, then," said Wesley, his eyes lighting up eagerly. "What happened with the girl you were to protect?"

Angel gave a small snort that could either have been ironic or amused. "I fell in love with her."

"Oh?" said Wesley. Could this girl be the one to whom the ring had belonged? Angel hadn't mentioned anyone else who could have been its owner so far, and they were rapidly running out of backstory in which she could exist.

"I wasn't supposed to, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. And it wasn't long after we actually met before it wasn't just me anymore."

"She fell in love with you in return?" asked Wesley. Angel nodded. "Did she know what you are?"

"Not at first. When she did find out, she didn't take it well. And Darla wasn't making matters any easier."

"Your sire?"

"Yeah. But I told her about the curse, and she trusted me. Darla came in and tried to kill her, but I staked her before she could do it."

"You _killed_ your sire?" As Wesley understood it, such an act was quite a taboo among vampires.

"I wasn't going to let anything hurt her. I had to choose between her and Darla, and it was an easy choice. After that, I tried to stay away from her." He smiled slightly. "I only lasted a couple of months. She didn't think too much of my attempt at noble aloofness, which was pretty pathetic anyway. Even as long as I've lived, love was still new to me, and I was powerless to resist. More months went by and we got closer and closer. She loved me even though she knew about my past. None of it mattered to her, not even for a second. I'd never been happier in my life." The muscles in his jaw tightened. "But it was my happiness that was our undoing."

* * *

Points to the first one who can identify the vampire chasing Buffy and Joyce. Also, I know a lot of you were probably expecting Buffy to hit Xander or something, and I definitely considered it, but this is what the characters gave me, and I think the cold disgust and/or hurt of his two best friends and then them shunning him, plus Giles adding his own helping of guilt to it, was much more effective at getting Xander to feel remorse.


	17. The Blame Game

"What do you mean?" asked Wesley, frowning.

"The curse that binds my soul to my body is an instrument of revenge. I was supposed to suffer for what I'd done. If I'm not suffering—if I achieve true happiness, the curse breaks. We discovered that to our cost on her seventeenth birthday. She made me forget what I had done. When I was with her, I was just a man; a man she loved enough to entrust with her whole being. It was—I can't even describe it except to say that it was perfect." His looked down. "And I lost my soul," he finished bitterly.

"Good Lord," said Wesley in quiet horror. "Did you know that was possible?"

"No," said Angel a little crossly. "You think I wanted to unleash 'the Scourge of Europe' on the woman I loved?"

"No, certainly not." Wesley hesitated. "What happened?"

Angel's shoulders slumped and his head bowed. "I'm guessing you already read about what I did to Drusilla?"

"Yes…," said Wesley apprehensively.

"I started to do that to her. Her last memories of me were of the torture and murder the people she cared about suffered at my hands. And then I grew even more ambitious and tried to have the world sucked into Hell. I got my soul back just in time to get run through and sent there myself, and you know the rest."

[o]

School was finally out for the holidays, which freed up a lot more time for Giles, Willow, and Faith to help Buffy try to figure out why she kept seeing Angel. Xander had yet to make an appearance at the library, which was likely a wise decision, as far as his self-preservation was concerned.

"I don't believe the dreams are connected to the, erm—" said Giles, breaking off and shooting an uncomfortable glance at Buffy.

"Hallucinations," she supplied dully. "What makes you say that, though?"

"Well, lack of transition, for one. You've had the same dream nearly every night for almost the entire semester. If seeing Angel walking down a street and again in the Christmas tree lot were a new symptom of the same cause, the dream should have altered to lead more logically to it."

"Yeah, I guess," said Buffy noncommittally.

"Oh!" said Willow suddenly, her eyes wide, "what if something's just trying to throw Buffy off her game? Not really a hallucination at all?"

"Do you know," said Giles thoughtfully, "I wouldn't be surprised if that were true."

"I like this alternative where I'm not crazy," said Buffy with the most enthusiasm she'd shown so far.

"This gonna be something we can kill?" asked Faith, punching a fist into the palm of her other hand.

"We'll have to do a bit more than speculate before we can ascertain that," said Giles, handing her a book. She gave it the sort of look small children give vegetables.

[o]

By nightfall, they'd discovered several intriguing possibilities, but nothing definite yet. Giles recommended that Buffy not patrol as long as the Angel-sightings continued, because they could be a dangerous distraction if it happened again when she was in the middle of the fight, and Faith was all too happy to pick up the slack.

After walking Willow home, Buffy continued on her way, but apparently hadn't paid much attention to where she was going, because she soon found herself, not back at home, but at the mansion. Her eyes widened and she turned to leave, only to come face-to-face with Angel.

"So, you've finally come back to the scene of the crime," he said. Just like when he'd disappeared into the alley in town, his expression was uncharacteristically harsh.

[o]

Giles frowned at the passage he was reading.

"Just cleaned out a nest," said Faith in greeting as she strode through the double doors.

"Excellent," he said vaguely.

"New lead?" she asked, noticing the book in front of him.

"Possibly. These letters contain references to a—an ancient power known as The First."

"First what?"

"Evil. Absolute. Older than man, than demons. It would certainly want to interfere with a Slayer's performance. It has servants, known as the Bringers, or Harbingers." He showed Faith a picture of men in hooded cloaks. The most noticeable thing about them was that their eyes appeared to have been sewn shut.

"Yikes. Looks like they picked the wrong boss," said Faith with a grimace.

"Yes, well. The point is that these Harbinger chappies can conjure spirit manifestations and set them on people, influence them, haunt them."

"Like what's happening to B," said Faith.

"Precisely," he said. He looked down at the book again. "'For they are the Harbingers of death,'" he read, "'Nothing shall grow above or below them. No seed shall flower, neither in man nor—'"

"Hey, I've seen that," Faith interrupted. "It means dead plants and stuff, right? There was this bunch of dead trees at the lot."

"Well, I think that merits investigation. With weapons," said Giles.

"On it," said Faith. She took a battle axe from the weapons cabinet and departed.

[o]

"Do you have any idea what it's like where you sent me?" Angel demanded.

"I had to," she said pleadingly. She wanted to believe that this was a trick, but his words were what she'd feared ever since that terrible day in May. "The whole world would have ended if I hadn't done it."

"My blood would open the vortex, and then it would be the only thing that could close it."

"That's how it works," said Buffy, trying not to show how much this was getting to her.

"Oh, right," he said scornfully. "So, according to you, you impaled me for the greater good. It didn't occur to you to just smear some of my blood on the sword?" Buffy let out a strangled gasp of horror. "You knew it was true, deep down," he went on, his voice growing louder and angrier by the syllable, "but you still sent me to Hell!"

"No!" she protested, tears blurring her vision. "I didn't know! I would have saved you if I thought there was a chance! I _love _you, Angel."

He only glared coldly back at her. "That's a lie. Murderer."

The tears were now streaking thick and fast down her cheeks. "No," she sobbed, "no…."

And then he had turned into Miss Calendar. "What about me? If you were going to kill Angel anyway, you couldn't do it before he had the chance to finish me off? I'm surprised Rupert can even look at you." Miss Calendar became Theresa Klusmeyer. "Aren't you supposed to protect people? Good job protecting me." Dozens more faces flashed before her, each looking at her with blame and hatred until finally turning into Angel again.

"You let me kill all of them, but you didn't send me to Hell until I had a soul again." He turned into Spike. "And good job not killing me and Dru when you had the chance. Who knows how many poor, defenseless wankers we've killed since we left?" He turned into Kendra. "And I suppose I wasn't dat important if you didn't even avenge me." She turned into Drusilla. "The stars have been whispering to me, dear little Slayer." Her eyelids fluttered closed, and a wide smile stretched her lips. "Oh, how they whisper, psst, psst. They tell me that you're like me." And she turned into Buffy. "Pain. Death. Suffering. They're what I bring to this world."

It all rang too true, and it was more than Buffy could handle. She fell to her knees and wept desperately into her hands. The Buffy standing over her smirked cruelly.

[o]

Joyce hummed to herself as she put the groceries in the fridge and pantry, then proceeded to empty the dryer of its load of clean, dry clothes. These she brought with her into the living room so that she could watch a program while she folded them. She had just added another of Buffy's shirts to the folded pile when a harsh blast of noise sounded outside, making her jump. The noise continued, and she realized with a flood of embarrassment that her car alarm had gone off. She really needed to get that thing checked.

Abandoning the rest of the clothes, she retrieved her keys from the kitchen and went outside to turn off the alarm. It only took seconds, and though no lights had gone on in the houses around her, her cheeks still burned with humiliation. She turned to go back inside the house, and almost knocked into the vampire standing there, leering at her. She screamed in fright, but also remembered the defense classes she'd taken years ago, and jabbed viciously at him with her keys.

The vampire staggered back a little under the blows that were much more violent than he would have expected from the woman he'd been watching since the sun had set. But he was more surprised than injured, and quickly rallied. Joyce fought tooth and nail, but she was no match for his strength, and soon lay unconscious on the driveway. He picked her up and slung her across his back like a sack of potatoes, then carried her off down the street, humming the same tune she had hummed earlier.

[o]

Xander paced agitatedly around his bedroom, ignoring the occasional shouts echoing from other rooms in the house. So far, he'd avoided Buffy and Willow and been avoided by them for days. He'd spent most of that time looking at what he'd done from all kinds of frightening new angles—all of which made him feel like crap. The worst had been when he found himself able to separate Angel and Angelus in his mind for the first time, which left him with no excuse for what he had done. He still didn't like Angel, but that was just because of a petty rivalry that wasn't even relevant now.

He had to make things right with Buffy and Willow. So what if he didn't know what he was going to say? If he didn't do it soon, Willow might not want to watch _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ with him like they'd done every year for as long as he could remember, and he simply could not allow that to happen. But Buffy was the one he really needed to apologize to, and with that thought, he set off for her house immediately, worried that he'd lose his nerve if he waited any longer.

What he found upon reaching the Summers' home, however, drove all of his half-formed apologies from his mind. The front door was wide open. He ran to the threshold. "Buffy? Mrs. Summers?" he called loudly. No answer. He was about to rush inside to see if they were in there, unconscious maybe, when he noticed what was taped to the doorjamb. It was a slightly overexposed Polaroid of Joyce Summers, gagged and looking utterly terrified. He flipped it over to find an address, followed by a message that raised the hair on the back of his neck.

"Come and play, little girl."

* * *

*dramatic chord* I feel horrible for using all of those characters against Buffy in such quick succession. But it did work rather nicely. At first, I was just going to use Angel, Jenny, Theresa, and Buffy herself, but then Spike, Dru, and Kendra wanted to play too. I couldn't say no.


	18. Hanukkah Spirit

Xander burst into the library, clutching at the stitch in his side.

"Xander," said Giles in mild alarm. "What is it?"

"Something took Buffy's mom," he said, thrusting the Polaroid into the Englishman's face.

"When did you find this?" Giles demanded urgently.

"Five minutes ago." He looked around. "Is Buffy on patrol?"

"No, I thought she went home," said Giles, his brow furrowing. "An entity known as the First Evil has been tormenting her for the past few days by masquerading as Angel. We decided patrolling would be inadvisable until we could put a stop to that."

Xander looked past Giles for a moment, frowning. "Then I think I know where Buffy is," he said, and departed again at top speed.

[o]

Joyce could hear the vampire who had kidnapped her walking down the hall outside of the room where she was bound and gagged. Tiny blue boxes were still burned into her retinas from the blinding flashes of latest two dozen or so photographs he'd taken of her. The vampire was insane, but at least he seemed to be waiting for Buffy to arrive before he would do anything worse than scare her—not that he wasn't doing scary well enough. Joyce was frightened nearly out of her wits. But Buffy would come, and everything would be all right. She strained against the ropes binding her arms and legs to the chair, but he had tied them so tightly that her extremities were starting to go numb.

"No getting away now, Mother," said the vampire, reentering the room with his camera. "May I call you 'Mother'?"

Joyce closed her eyes and leaned as far away from him as the ropes would allow her to.

[o]

The tree lot was closed for the night, but that didn't do much to slow Faith down. The chain link gate clinked loudly against the fence as it swung open at her kick, and she jogged across the lot until she reached the cluster of dead trees. She stamped her combat-booted foot hard on the ground there. It cracked and sank a few inches under the pressure, and she jumped aside and swung her axe repeatedly into the spot. Soon, a hole big enough for her to jump through had opened up, and she leapt down without a second thought. It was a short drop, and when she stood up, she saw that the cavern was lit by candles, and in the widest section of it, three figures were hunched over a low stone table covered in more candles as well as bones and talismans.

"Sorry guys, but it's time to break this up," she said. The Harbingers' eyeless faces turned to her, and she brought the axe around in a great arc that took off the head of the nearest one. With a violent yell, she went after the other two until they both lay dead on the ground like their fellow, and she quickly swept the stone table free of its ritual ingredients.

"Looks like I went after the wrong one," came a voice from behind her. Faith whipped around, raising the axe. The speaker was Buffy. Or appeared to be Buffy.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

The thing pretending to be Buffy walked slowly around Faith, looking at her with keen interest. "It's been a long time since I met a Slayer with so much potential for darkness."

"Save the smoke and mirrors crap. Giles told me what you are," said Faith, her lip curling.

"Did he, now?" With a smirk, it turned into her Watcher. The one who had been killed by Kakistos.

Faith let out a bellow of rage and swung the axe at it, but she might as well have swung at empty air. "You don't get to wear that face," she snarled.

It laughed with her Watcher's voice. "You think you can fight me? I'm not a demon, little girl. I'm something you can't even conceive."

"This gonna be one of those 'since the dawn of Time' speeches? Because you've seriously got the wrong audience."

"Oh, I don't need the speech. You'll be coming to me on your own."

"In a non-'killing you' capacity? Wouldn't bet on it."

Her Watcher turned abruptly into an enormous horned demon with long arms and deadly claws. "You will be mine!" it said in a horrible rasping shriek of a voice, before disappearing.

Feeling more than a little disconcerted, Faith left the cave and made her way back to her motel room.

[o]

Xander didn't think he'd ever broken more traffic laws than he did during the drive to Crawford Street. He barely remembered to put the car in park before leaping out and sprinting towards the mansion. "Buffy!" he shouted. Two seconds later, he came to such an abrupt halt that he stumbled. Buffy was crouched there in the courtyard. She looked so small that he almost hadn't seen her. Her head was in her hands and her whole body was shaking with silent sobs.

"Buffy," he said again, much more gently. But again, she seemed not to hear him. He ran up to her and reached out to touch her shoulder. She flinched away violently.

"No! Don't touch me!" she cried, her voice small and frightened. "You'll just get hurt like they did."

"Who 'they'? Vampires?"

She shook her head. "People. So many innocent people are dead because of me."

"What are you talking about? Do you have any idea how many innocent people are _alive_ because of you? Try six billion, a couple of times over." He grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to look him in the eyes. "Buffy, listen to me! Whatever you think is your fault, there wasn't anything you could have done about it!"

"But—"

"No! You can't blame yourself for the people you couldn't save. You do everything you can. You even gave your life to save us once already, and you think you're not doing good?"

"Xander," she choked out, burying her head against his chest. He held her tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Buffy," he said hoarsely. "I should have told you. I should have been there for you."

She pulled away and gave him a tremulous, watery smile. "You're here for me now. That's what counts."

With a great jolt to his stomach, Xander remembered the other reason why he'd come to find her. "We've gotta go."

"Why?" she asked, wiping her eyes. "What's wrong?"

In answer, he handed her the Polaroid.

Her eyes widened. "Let's go," she said.

As dire as the situation was, Xander couldn't help the smile that briefly lit his features. _This_ was the Buffy he knew.

[o]

The hinges of the front door to the crumbling old house whose address was given on the Polaroid were unequal to the force of one solid Slayer strength-enhanced kick. The door fell flat on the grimy floor, to reveal Buffy and Xander, both of whom clutched stakes.

"Here I am," Buffy called loudly as she stepped onto the fallen door and into the hall. "So, what games did you have in mind?"

A vampire loomed out of the shadows and chuckled. "Looks like Mama's little girl has spunk."

"Oh, I know a game," said Buffy, not listening to him. "Ring Around the Rosie. But, since I mostly just want to go to bed, we can skip to the end." With that, she launched her attack.

"You're a Slayer!" he said in shock while he attempted unsuccessfully to fend off her blows.

"Yes, I am," said Buffy with conviction as the stake plunged through his heart.

"Ashes, ashes, we all fall down," said Xander, grinning.

"Come on," said Buffy.

It took them about thirty seconds of searching the house to find Buffy's mom. After freeing her from the ropes tying her to the chair and the cloth gagging her, Buffy threw her arms around her. "I won't let anything happen to you," she vowed.

"I know, sweetie," said Joyce, hugging her back just as fiercely. "Let's go home."

[o]

Christmas Day arrived, just as ridiculously warm as the rest of the month had been in Sunnydale, but this had little effect on the serene happiness of the holiday. Buffy and Joyce opened their presents, drank eggnog, watched black and white films, and didn't bother to change out of their pajamas all day. Xander and Willow watched _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ in the farthest room in his house from the rest of his family just like every year, Willow even giddier than she normally was, thanks to the wonderful Christmas Eve she'd spent with Oz to look back on in addition to the tradition and her restored friendship with Xander.

But Christmas was rather different than usual for Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Receiving a rare old book from his Secret Santa at headquarters was perfectly routine, of course—it seemed to be the only sort of gift Watchers would exchange, in fact. But his mind could not have been less occupied with the gift. Instead, it was focused on the final portions of Angel's tale. He was sure now that the ring had belonged to the girl from that story. None of the other side characters from it could remotely compete for the role.

It was ironic, really. Wesley's initial goal regarding Angel had been to learn the details behind the ring and whether or not it was significant in his return from Hell. Instead, he had found a friend, and that initial goal seemed trivial to him. Though Wesley's curiosity was not dead, somehow he just knew that the ring was too personal of a subject, and he couldn't bring himself to ask. It was time to give it up.

[o]

"Morning, Wes," said Angel when his cell door opened.

"Good morning," Wesley replied. He had said it in a slightly subdued voice, which Angel did not fail to notice. He gave him an inquiring look, but Wesley responded with a brief, reassuring smile, before his expression grew serious once again. They went through their daily routine of bottle and book exchanging in silence. Finally, when that silence had dragged a couple of minutes longer and was even becoming awkward for Angel, Wesley stopped fidgeting and slowly put his hand into his pocket.

Angel watched as he drew the hand back out just as slowly. It was now closed over what must have been a very small object. He then stretched out his hand towards Angel, who lifted his own automatically, and dropped the object into his palm.

"Happy Christmas, Angel," said Wesley, and he left the cell before Angel could reply. Angel looked down at what he was holding. It was a Claddagh ring. More specifically, Buffy's Claddagh ring, he was sure of it. He had no idea how Wesley had obtained it, but he wasn't about to complain. His fingers closed over the cool circle of metal, and he pressed it close to his heart. He had lost his own ring many years ago in Hell, and he didn't know how long it had been since she had died. Having her ring now was like having a piece of her, and he would keep it forever.

* * *

No, Angel and Wes are *not* going to find out about the whole confusion with Angel thinking it's 2098. They're both way too guarded in their phrasing, even with people they trust, to let something that helpful slip. Also, since Angel is not an essential player in "Gingerbread", I get to skip it and head straight for "Helpless"! Which will hopefully make up for the frustration caused by the former point.


	19. Cruciamentum

Okay, I couldn't resist. This chapter features Tobias MacGowan, who I imagine as being played by Sean Maher (Simon Tam from _Firefly_ and _Serenity_). Just like with Sophia and Demetri, though, he doesn't necessarily have the same backstory that he had when I used him in "Season 9", even though his personality is basically the same.

* * *

For Buffy, falling asleep was like walking through a door and into the room where Angel was. Sometimes she had trouble getting the door open, usually due to the eagerness she was still somewhat ashamed of, but she always managed it in the end. Once on the other side, she found him as he usually was, and her eyes softened.

It took her several minutes to notice that his right hand seemed to be clenched around something. Whatever it was, he was holding it too tightly for her to catch even the tiniest glimpse of it, no matter which angle she tried to see it from. Finally, she gave up and looked at his face instead. Apart from the times she found him asleep, she had never seen his features so serene in one of these dreams.

[o]

Returning the ring to Angel had afforded Wesley a sense of peace that was better than closure. Neither of them mentioned it during the fortnight that had elapsed since Christmas, but now something else was troubling him. Unfortunately, he could not get his answers from Angel, nor indeed from any of the Council's resources. He looked down at the memo Travers had sent him, which granted him permission to go on research leave. Every Watcher was allotted a set amount of time for such a purpose every year, but as Wesley hadn't used any of his since becoming a Watcher, he had a full two months he could devote to the problem. Hopefully it wouldn't take quite that long, but he was prepared to spend every last day he had been allotted if he had to.

Wesley's self-appointed quest, however, did have one rather significant drawback. It meant that he would have to delegate his responsibility over Angel to someone else for the time he was gone. He trusted many of his fellow Watchers, but sincerely doubted that they would see eye to eye with him about the lonely vampire in the dungeons, no matter how well he explained Angel's special circumstances to them. There was no chance of finding someone to fill his role as Angel's friend and confidante, but Wesley did know one Watcher who had been in his graduating class at the Academy and who shared his views about the unnecessary brutality that was the tournament. It was a start.

"Tobias," said Wesley quietly.

Tobias MacGowan had dark hair and was a few inches shorter than Wesley, though they were of about the same build. For an American, he did a surprisingly good job of imitating the stiff mannerisms of his English colleagues at headquarters. Wesley had worked with him before, and felt reasonably comfortable in counting him an ally.

"What is it?" Tobias asked, not taking his eyes off the old scroll he was translating from Mandarin Chinese into English.

"Erm, has Travers been keeping you especially busy lately?" asked Wesley tentatively.

"Not really. Why?"

"I was hoping you'd be able to take over my prisoner maintenance duties while I'm on research leave," he said.

"Shouldn't be a problem. What did you get leave for?"

"Oh, nothing in particular. I'll be going abroad, though, and I obviously won't be able to keep feeding Ang—Angelus." He had almost referred to him as "Angel", but caught himself just in time.

Tobias, still half-focused on the scroll, didn't notice. "Anything I should know?" he asked.

"Oh, er, yes," said Wesley. "You'll just need to get the keys from Mr. Travers every morning and give Angelus one of the containers from the icebox down there. I put a fresh block in yesterday, so with any luck, you won't have to worry about replacing it before I return." he hesitated. Knowing Tobias, he was sure he wouldn't question the large bottles of blood in the icebox, but he didn't want him to be needlessly jumpy around Angel either. "He's actually quite amiable, for a vampire. Nothing like Erebus, at any rate." They both shuddered. "I've found that if you treat him like a human being, he won't be any trouble."

"Sounds good," said Tobias. He sounded willing enough, despite his obvious indifference.

[o]

Buffy didn't know what was going on, and she didn't like it. Patrol last night had been a disaster. As if it wasn't enough to be completely off her slaying game, her father wouldn't be able to take her to the ice show for her birthday. And, to cap it off, Giles had started a new facet of training that involved memorizing crystals. What good was that ever going to do her?

[o]

"You're leaving?" asked Angel, forgetting about the uncorked bottle that was currently halfway to his mouth.

"Only temporarily," said Wesley apologetically. "I might be back in as little as a week, but I really don't know at this point. You won't have to worry about being put back on those pitiful rations again, though I'm afraid you'll have to forgo the books. The Watcher who shall be taking my place is a former classmate of mine. Tobias MacGowan. He's a decent enough chap, if a bit self-important. He certainly won't be like Smith."

"Good," said Angel, scowling.

[o]

But Wesley's careful preparations came to little use. Tobias had only had charge over Angel for one day when Quentin, along with Blair and Hobson, came down to the dungeon, the latter two wielding tranquilizer guns and manacles that were obviously designed to restrain him during travel. Angel had heard them saying something about the Cruciamentum on the way to his cell. He'd almost forgotten about that, but it seemed that it was upon him at last. He thought briefly of trying to escape, but when he couldn't think of anywhere to escape _to_, he gave the notion up.

He had time to snarl menacingly at them before two tranquilizer darts hit him squarely on the chest, and everything went black.

[o]

Giles had never been more repulsed by his own actions than he was now. And yet, two evenings in a row, he had administered the muscle-relaxing drug to Buffy while pretending not to know what was wrong with her. Feeling utterly wretched, he went to the old boarding house on the outskirts of town, which was where Buffy's Cruciamentum was to be held.

Once there, he knocked twice on the door and was told to enter. Inside, he found Quentin Travers, who seemed to be directing two underlings in the boarding up of windows.

"Good day, Rupert," he said.

"I'm not sure I'd call it that," replied Giles coolly. They sat down to tea.

Quentin frowned at him. "You're having doubts," he said. It was a disapproving statement, rather than a question. He heaved a sigh. "Cruciamentum is not easy... for Slayer or Watcher. But it's been done this way for a dozen centuries whenever a Slayer turns eighteen. It's a time-honored rite of passage."

"It's an archaic exercise in cruelty," said Giles bluntly. "To lock her in this...tomb.... Weakened, defenseless. And to unleash a vampire on her."

"Oh, it isn't just any vampire," said Quentin. Giles looked at him sharply. "I was impressed by the report you sent me in September. In my whole time on the Council, I have never heard of a Slayer of the same caliber that yours seems to be. Consequently, we have something very special for her."

"What are you talking about?" asked Giles, his eyes narrowed.

"I won't spoil the surprise for you just yet, but the vampire she will face was the winner of last fall's tournament and is a master."

Giles stood up angrily. "Buffy has already been killed by a master vampire once, and you intend to pit her against one _without_ her strength?"

Quentin stood up too, not at all fazed by Giles's outrage. "This is precisely why you're not qualified to make this decision," he said. "You're too close."

"That's not true," Giles argued.

Quentin looked a little impatient now. "A Slayer is not just physical prowess. She must have cunning, imagination, a confidence derived from self-reliance. And believe me, once this is all over, your Buffy will be stronger for it."

"Or she'll be dead for it," Giles snarled, then turned on his heel and left without another word.

[o]

When Angel came to, he was chained in an unfamiliar room with cracked stone walls and a very dirty floor. The place smelled rather strongly of mold, and he could hear three heartbeats somewhere above him. With a sudden rush of panic and loud clinking of chains, he felt inside his pockets frantically, and almost collapsed with relief when his fingers closed over Buffy's ring. It was still there. Feeling marginally better, he looked around and spotted a small bag of blood identical to the ones Smith had once given him, which he drained in two gulps.

He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious or where he'd been taken, but his new setting filled him with a sense of foreboding. His desire to escape, which had been almost nonexistent in the dungeon of the Council's headquarters due to his constant lethargic depression and grief, was now rising. It rose still further when he noticed an encouraging sign, in that the door at the top of the stairs near where he was chained was not covered in crosses as his old cell door had been.

[o]

Giles's drive home was interrupted by a screaming girl running into the street. It took him only a second to realize that the girl was Buffy, and another to realize that she was being pursued. He slammed his foot down on the brake pedal, and his old gray Citroën squealed loudly in protest as it came to a halt. "Get in!" he shouted. Buffy didn't need telling twice. The vampires still on her tail, she dove into the passenger side of the car, and he punched it before she could even close the door.

He looked at Buffy, white and trembling on the seat next to him. Quentin's test be damned; he wasn't doing this to her any longer.

[o]

An hour later, Giles sat alone in his office. Buffy's expression of betrayal when he told her what he had done had almost broken him, and it certainly seemed to have broken her. He felt a rush of fury towards his employer. That man saw Buffy as nothing more than a weapon, but underneath the calling, she was just a girl. She had a hard enough life without being manipulated by the people she trusted.

Feeling slightly more confrontational about it than he might have been if he hadn't just drank quite a lot of brandy, he picked up his phone and dialed Quentin's number.

"Hello?"

"Quentin," he said, then launched into his attack without further preamble. "The test is off. I've told Buffy everything."

"That is in direct opposition to the Council's orders!" said Quentin. The usually even-tempered man sounded genuinely angry, which afforded Giles a deep sense of satisfaction. This was squashed immediately, however, by Quentin's next words. "I've prepared too long for this to let your personal feelings get in the way. You are not the head of this Council and we will continue this Cruciamentum without you if we must."

Giles tried to reply, but Quentin had already terminated the call.

[o]

"Blair, Hobson," said Quentin after hanging up the phone. They jumped to attention, looking anxious. "As you may have gathered, the man isn't cooperating. You know what to do."

"Yes, sir," they said in unison. They retrieved their tranquilizer guns and left the boarding house at once.

* * *

The first person to guess what Wesley's up to gets an imaginary cookie. But I suppose you're all more interested in getting to the next chapter. Typical. Oh, by the way, the vamps chasing weakened Buffy did not include Kralik or Hobson, obviously, as she killed Kralik in the last chapter and Hobson was never turned in this version of events. These vamps were just some of those random nameless, run-of-the-mill vamps that always seem to be close at hand in Sunnydale.


	20. Reunited

Okay, I don't know why, but the website didn't bother to bump this story to the front page when I posted chapter nineteen. If you missed that chapter because of this inexplicable and highly irritating technical difficulty, just go back and read it before you read this one, otherwise things will be very confusing for you.

No, seriously. You need to read chapter nineteen first. Chronological order is important.

* * *

Angel didn't know what they were planning, but wasn't curious enough about it to wait around and find out. He could only hear one heart beating within the building now, and it was currently beating slowly enough that whomever it belonged to was surely asleep. His new shackles were suspiciously easy to break out of, even though, thanks to Wesley, he was strong enough that he could have broken free of the ones in his cell if he had tried. Rubbing the welts on his wrists, he made his way out of the dank basement. More suspiciously still, the door leading to the rest of the house hadn't even been locked.

As stealthy as he was, he couldn't stop the rotten floorboards from creaking very loudly at his every step, and he hadn't taken more than five of them when he heard that solitary heartbeat suddenly jump to a rate that was far more alert. Panicked, even. He moved faster, searching for an exit, but the place was like a maze.

[o]

Buffy slowly came to, her head throbbing dully. After a few more seconds, she remembered what had happened the night before. She'd been kidnapped from her own bedroom and shot with a tranquilizer dart before she could attempt to fight—not that it was very likely that she could have done something against those two men in her weakened state. Giles…how could he? No. She didn't want to think about that right now.

She opened her eyes and sat up, then felt a surge of dread. It was like waking up in a horror film. She didn't recognize her surroundings at all, and she still felt hopelessly weak. The walls of the small room had great chunks of plaster missing, so that the boards underneath were visible. The couch she was sitting on had been ripped in places, with stuffing oozing from the holes, and there was so much dust that she could taste it on the air.

Buffy might have been robbed of her strength, but not all of her Slayer abilities had been disabled. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she could hear the unmistakable sound of floorboards creaking beneath footsteps. There was a vampire nearby. Giles's words came back to her, and the creeping dread in her stomach expanded. _"The Slayer is disabled and then entrapped with a vampire foe, whom she must defeat in order to pass the test." _ How was she supposed to defeat anything in this state? She had no weapons and no strength. Whoever had taken the matter of this test out of Giles's hands had placed her in a deathtrap. Her only hope was to escape before the vampire found her. She got to her feet and hurried to the door.

[o]

Angel could now hear light footsteps echoing from a nearby room, then the hinges of a door squeaking as it was opened. He had to hurry. Whoever was here with him—even though the idea that just one human could stop him from getting out was laughable—could easily call for backup if he didn't escape before they found him.

The next hallway he turned down apparently had better flooring, for the creaking stopped. He increased his pace even more, but he could still hear that heartbeat getting closer to him. But then he let out a great unneeded lungful of air in a sigh of relief. The door. It was large and very solid and sturdy looking, but that didn't discourage him. His first attempt yielded nothing but the sound of wood beginning to splinter. He tried again, wrenching at the door with all of his strength. This time, it gave.

His triumph was immediately doused by the flood of sunlight that streamed into the foyer and across his bare torso. With a roar of pain, he threw himself sideways into the shadows. How had he not known it was day? Had his acute ability to discern night from day without external clues atrophied during the century he'd been trapped in an eternally sunless hell? Now the absence of his jailors made sense. They hadn't left him unguarded in this place; they'd simply given the day shift to the sun.

[o]

Buffy froze. From the moment the creaking stopped to a second ago when that agonized shout had reverberated through the corridor, she had thought she'd been putting more distance between herself and the vampire. But that wasn't what had robbed her of her motor functions. That voice…it couldn't be. Her breath caught in her lungs. Was it the First again? No…the First was incorporeal; it couldn't have made the floorboards creak—nor could it have tripped her built-in vampire radar.

Without pausing to consider the possibility that she might be wrong—no, that she was _definitely_ wrong, because Angel was in Hell—, she began to run in the direction from which the shout had come.

[o]

When the footsteps pursuing him broke into a run, Angel dove into the room off the entrance hall. He had two options. He could either incapacitate his pursuer, or he could find a place to hide. The latter idea repulsed him—he'd spent too much time hiding already—, and the former could potentially prevent backup from being called until later. But he still hadn't moved towards carrying out either course when the footsteps came to an abrupt halt—right behind him.

[o]

Shielding her eyes against the brightness of the sunlight streaming into the hall and ignoring the freedom offered by the open door, Buffy stopped and turned slowly to the left. Her heart gave such a painful wrench of longing that it almost caused her to cry out. It was really him. Ten feet away from her, with his back facing her, every muscle in his body coiled and tense. She would have known it was him even if the telltale tattoo on his shoulder blade hadn't been plainly visible.

[o]

"A-Angel?" came a choked voice from behind him. A voice that he recognized—the sound he would have given anything to hear again for the past hundred years. But it wasn't possible. He whipped around, his gaze instantly fixing on the figure standing there, dazzlingly illuminated by golden sunlight. He was sure that if his heart hadn't already been still, it would have stopped. Before he could process any further, the girl who looked, sounded, and smelled exactly like Buffy had dashed forward and thrown herself into his arms. "Oh, God, Angel. It's really you," she sobbed into his chest, her arms locked tightly around him.

"Buffy," he croaked, returning the embrace. Shock and joy wreaked havoc on his mind in equal measure. She was here. Buffy was here. But then he remembered where _here_ was, and abruptly came to his senses.

This was a lie. Buffy was dead.

Blind fury rose in him. So this was what Cruciamentum meant. This was what the Council had had in store for him all along. To torture him with the one thing he wanted more than anything in the world but which he knew was already gone from him forever. They had certainly chosen their poison well, but he'd sooner go back to Hell than allow them to corrupt her by using her against him. With a snarl, he ripped the imposter off of him and slammed her against a crumbling wall, his true face to the fore, his hand closed around her throat, holding her at eye level with him.

[o]

In an instant, Buffy's most wished-for dream of eight months had become her most dreaded nightmare. Angelus. _No, no, no…_ Staring into the livid golden eyes of the demon, she desperately tried to tug his fingers away from her throat, but the drugs were still at work in her system, and her efforts were in vain. How could the Council do this to her? How could they think she'd want to take orders from them if this was what they could put her through?

"What are you?" he snarled, his jaw clenched tightly and fangs bared. What? That question didn't make any sense. Angelus knew her. He knew her as well as Angel did. He had used that knowledge to torment her for four months, for God's sake!

"You already know," she wheezed, glaring back at him.

"_NO!_" he bellowed, his other fist smashing through the wall an inch away from her head. He looked almost insane with rage now. Buffy had never felt more terrified in her life. "You can't be her. She's dead," he spat.

"What?" she asked, confused and still frightened out of her wits. "I _am_ Buffy, and I'm not dead!" She was starting to feel dizzy from the decreased flow of blood to her brain. She feebly tried to pry his hand away, but had no more success than before. "Let me go," she whimpered pleadingly.

"It's been a hundred years. Buffy is gone." She heard the slightest anguished tremor in his menacing tone, and then it all made sense. Well, most of it, at least. She remembered Ken's demon dimension, and how time moved much more quickly there. The same must have been true of the hell Angel had been in, and he thought that an equal amount of time had passed on Earth. She just had to convince him of the truth before the blackness now throbbing at the edges of her vision could engulf her. Redoubling her efforts to loosen his grip, she tried to arrange her features into a tender expression, but all she managed was a grimace—being throttled was really quite painful and not an easy thing to ignore.

"Hasn't…been a hundred…years," she said. It was becoming increasingly difficult to speak, but she gritted her resolve and enunciated as clearly as she could. "It's nineteen…ninety-nine. Time is different…here than in Hell. You've only…been gone eight…months." Eight months that had been two thirds of the hardest year of her life. He didn't release her, but his grip slackened and a flicker of uncertainty disrupted his furious expression. "Oh, Angel, I've missed you so much." Her voice broke, and tears streaked down her face to fall on the back of his hand. She reached out to touch his face. His anger, along with his vampiric features, melted away, and he lowered her slowly back to the ground.

"Buffy?" he asked. His deep brown eyes were locked searchingly on her gray-green ones and his tone was cautious, as though he didn't dare to hope, but his hand had finally left her throat and moved to caress her face instead.

"It's me, Angel," she said.

As if in slow motion, Angel sank to his knees. His arms moved to wrap tightly around her middle and his face pressed against her stomach. His joy that she was really here was almost as painful as his grief had been, and he wept just as hard at getting her back as he had when mourning her, her name falling from his lips again and again like a prayer.

* * *

I hope I didn't make anyone dizzy with all of the perspective changes. Anyway, Buffy and Angel are together again, and it only took me twenty chapters. I had their reunion figured out before I even started posting this story, and it is such an enormous relief to have finally reached it. I'll try to keep up the same frequency of updates from now on, but my muse is showing signs of losing interest now that I've gotten to this part. I'll see if I can't talk some sense into her, though--except that it's getting to the time when I really should be focusing on writing the next episode of "Season 9" instead.


	21. Heaven and Hell

Okay, so maybe my muse isn't as disenchanted as I thought. Enjoy!

* * *

It was a long time before either of them moved. Neither wanted to let go for fear that it would turn out to be a cruel illusion. Eventually, though, Angel stood up again and rested his forehead against Buffy's. He noticed the dark bruises forming on her neck and pulled away a little, averting his gaze in shame. "I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" she asked. He looked pointedly at her throat. She raised a hand to touch it and winced painfully. "Oh. It's okay. We're supposed to be fighting to the death. Now it looks like we did. But we've got to hide you before they come back."

"Who?"

"Giles's Watcher buddies. It's this evil test thing where they take away the Slayer's strength and then sic a vampire on her."

"Giles did that?" he asked, looking shocked and angry.

"No!" said Buffy hastily. "He was part of it at first, but he tried to stop it. I guess he didn't bet on them coming to grab me out of my room, though. Some birthday." She saw the angry red welts on his wrists and took both of his hands in hers. "What happened to you?"

"I've been in the Council's dungeons for the past few months. I guess they were saving me for this." His expression darkened considerably. "God, if I hadn't won that tournament…."

"What tournament?" she asked.

"I wasn't the only one there at first. They had seven other vampires locked up too. Old vampires. A few of them older than me." Buffy's expression was growing more horrified with every word he spoke. "They made us fight until only one was left. I won, and then I found out that I would be used for the Cruciamentum. I didn't know what it meant; I thought it was just going to be some kind of torture for me. But if one of the others had beaten me—," he broke off, shuddering as his mind presented him with horrible images of a defenseless Buffy being brutally mauled by the insatiably blood-thirsty Erebus or being gruesomely tortured by Demetri. But they were dust, he reminded himself, and he was here with Buffy. Everything would be all right.

"And the Council was behind this?" she asked. "As in, the _Watchers'_ Council?" He nodded, and she chuckled angrily. "I knew I didn't like them. What did they do to you?"

"It was bad at first. Starvation rations, physical abuse." He broke off again, snorting. "Compared to Hell, though, it was like a day at the spa." Buffy looked away. "What?" he asked, hooking a finger under her chin and gently tilting her face until she looked back into his eyes.

"I sent you there," she said, her already painful throat tightening as she remembered what the First had said while impersonating him. She closed her eyes, and a few more tears leaked out. "You must hate me so much." When she opened her eyes again, she was surprised to find him looking at her like she had gone insane.

"I could never hate you, Buffy," he said softly, shaking his head. "_Never_. I love you. You did it to save the world. I can't hold that against you." He almost added "and I deserved it anyway," but knew that it would send them into a circular argument about whether he was innocent of Angelus's crimes or not, and he didn't want to go into that with her like he had done several times with Wesley.

Buffy's heart swelled. After everything he'd been through, after what she'd done to him, he loved her still. "I love you, too, Angel," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "It hurt so much when you were gone. I tried to move on, but I couldn't do it. And you've been in Hell and then a dungeon all this time." She stopped, frowning. Then her eyes widened and she seized his hands more tightly than before. "Was the dungeon a dark room with crosses on the door?"

"Yeah," he said slowly.

"The dreams _were_ real," she gasped. "I've been seeing you in that cell in my dreams for months, but I could never figure out what it meant."

"Then you were really there," he said. "Sometimes, when I was asleep, you were there with me." She nodded, smiling tearfully. "I thought you'd been coming from Heaven to visit me," he whispered, lifting a hand to touch her face, "because Hell lost its power over me after the first time you came."

Buffy was suddenly overwhelmed again by the reality of his presence after so long—much longer for him—, and she wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could with the drugs still sapping her strength. He returned the embrace, pulling her as close to him as she could get. They remained that way for several long moments, before Giles's words from months ago came floating out of Buffy's memory.

"We have to get you out of here," she said, looking up at him urgently.

"Why?" he asked. He was smiling, and she had to beat away a sudden fierce desire to kiss him. Now was not the moment for that. He was in danger.

"If they come back and one of us isn't dead, something bad will happen. Giles never told them that we were together. If they find out, they'll take you away again. Probably kill you."

"Let them try," Angel growled. What _wouldn't_ he give to make those men pay for what they'd done to him and Buffy….

"No!" she said. "If they were powerful enough to capture you and seven other old vampires, how can you be sure you won't just end up back in that cell?"

"Because this time I'll be ready for them," he said, his lip curling. It was too bad Weatherby and Smith weren't here as well.

"I won't risk losing you again," she said firmly. "If we just play this out as if I passed their test, they'll go back to England and you'll be safe." She looked imploringly into his eyes. "Please, Angel."

"Okay," he said reluctantly.

"Good," she said. "Now we just have to find a way to get you out of here without getting you crispy-fried."

"Any sewer access?" he asked.

"No idea. Never been here before."

Together, they walked through the ground floor and basement. The search of the basement yielded nothing, but they found a door in the kitchen and another in the back, both boarded up. Then, while Angel waited inside, Buffy checked all around the rotting old building. Finally, she found a manhole in the weed-ridden alleyway separating the boarding house from another place in equal need of renovation. The boarding house's barricaded kitchen door led to this alleyway, and the other building cast heavy shadows over it. Feeling elated by this discovery, Buffy ran back around the front and disappeared inside again.

"Angel?" she called loudly.

"I'm here," he said, practically materializing beside her. "Did you find anything?"

"Yeah, we just have to get through the door in the kitchen."

Despite how much effort Blair and Hobson had put into them, Angel had the boards down and the door open within minutes. He then made similarly short work of the manhole cover.

"Where will you go?" Buffy asked.

"The apartment," he said. "I own it, and I never went there again after—it should still be the way I left it." He shifted awkwardly, remembering exactly what he had said to her the last time he'd been in that apartment, and her face as he left her there in tears. Thankfully, Buffy chose that moment to save him from the unpleasant recollection.

"I'll meet you there once the guys from the Council are gone," she said. He nodded, but he had only taken one step toward the manhole before he spun back around and pulled her into a heated, passionate kiss. It was lucky that Buffy remembered to breathe through her nose, because it went on for several minutes. Even though it had only been eight months for her, it had been a century for him, and he couldn't have held back if he'd tried.

"I'll see you tonight," he said after they broke apart, and he turned and jumped down the manhole. Buffy remained there in the alleyway long after he had gone, feeling warmer and happier than she had in months—not to mention thoroughly dazed and as if her legs had turned to jelly.

When she finally came back to Earth, she began to make her way into town. She had no idea how she was going to tell the others about this, but Giles would probably find out from the Council guys anyway. She was still horrified at what he had done to her, but in her current euphoric state, it was easier to remember the remorse and self-hatred in his voice when he told her about the test. He was still on her side; she _knew_ it.

[o]

Buffy arrived at the library and immediately saw a short, stocky, gray-haired man talking to an infuriated Giles. She was incensed to see the two men who'd taken her from her room standing there as well. Of the four of them, Giles saw her first.

"Buffy!" he cried, looking relieved beyond words. "Thank God you're all right!" The gray-haired man gave him a "well, of course she is" sort of look, which made Buffy dislike him even more.

"Yeah," she said, flashing Giles a small smile.

"And Angelus?" asked the gray-haired man. Giles looked from him to Buffy in alarm. Buffy shook her head almost imperceptibly at him, and he rearranged his features so that his shock was no longer visible.

"Dust," she lied.

"Then congratulations, you passed. The Council will be very pleased to hear it."

"Do I get a gold star?" she asked, glaring daggers at her abductors.

"I understand that you're upset—," the gray-haired man began.

"You understand _nothing_," said Buffy with forced calm. "You had them take me from my home and put me in that place with him _unconscious_ _and_ _without weapons_."

"You think the test was unfair?"

"I think you better leave town before I get my strength back."

"We're not in the business of fair, Miss Summers, we're fighting a war."

"You're _waging_ a war, Quentin," Giles corrected him. "She's fighting it. There is a difference."

"Mr. Giles, if you don't mind," said Quentin, who was obviously growing weary of his insubordination.

"The test is done," said Giles. "We're finished." He turned away.

"Not quite," said Quentin. "She passed. You didn't. The Slayer is not the only one who must perform in this situation. I've recommended to the Council, and they've agreed, that you be relieved of your duties as Watcher immediately. You're fired."

Buffy and Giles both gaped at him, but Giles was the first to recover. "On what grounds?" he demanded.

"Your affection for your charge has rendered you incapable of clear and impartial judgment," said Quentin. "You have a father's love for the child, and that is useless to the cause." Buffy looked at Giles, her eyes softening. "It would be best if you had no further contact with the Slayer." Now she looked at Quentin in horror. He couldn't….

"I'm not going anywhere," said Giles harshly. Buffy wilted slightly in relief.

"No, well, I didn't expect you would adhere to that," said Quentin. "However, if you interfere with the new Watcher, or countermand his authority in any way, you will be dealt with. Are we clear?"

"Oh, we're very clear," said Giles.

Quentin turned back to Buffy and inclined his head. "Congratulations again."

She glared at him in loathing. "Bite me."

"Yes, well, colorful girl," said Quentin. He and the other two men departed without another word.

Giles waited until several minutes after he was sure they were gone before looking at Buffy. "Was he serious?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Buffy. "Angel's back. Soul and all."

Despite her veiled joyful expression, Giles frowned, looking at the angry purple bruising on her neck. "Did he do that to you?"

"He was in Hell for a hundred years and didn't realize it hasn't been that long here. He thought I was dead, so when he saw me today, he thought I was a trick that Quentin guy was using to hurt him. He's been in the Council's dungeon for months. That's what I kept seeing in my dreams, Giles."

Giles was still wary even though all of the pieces fit together so well. "You're quite sure he's back to...his usual self?"

"Yes," she said vehemently.

They looked at each other for a long moment. "Be careful," he said finally.

"I know," she replied with a grateful smile.

* * *

The title of this one is about how Buffy thought Angel was in Hell while he thought she was in Heaven. Hence, also, the title of the whole story, "Worlds Apart". Nifty, huh? The only sad (and also rather ironic, actually) thing about Buffy and Angel being together at last is that it means he's going to have to start wearing a shirt again. Oh, well. You win some, you lose some. Also, sorry to disappoint those of you who expected a confrontation with the Council, but no matter how angry with them Buffy and Angel are, they're not stupid enough to pick that fight on purpose.


	22. The Kalderash

"Does someone want to explain to me why we're at school on a Saturday? It's not natural," said Cordelia, looking as if she thought her surroundings might contaminate her. Willow gave a small, pouty frown that Oz found adorable. Faith swung her feet up onto the table and tilted her chair back on two legs with an air of complete indifference.

"No one said you had to come, Cordy," said Xander.

"Oh, please," she scoffed, "like I was going to miss it? If the world's ending, I can't just wait until a school day to be forewarned." She turned to Buffy and Giles, looking concerned. "The world's not ending, right?"

"No," said Buffy.

"Great. I guess that means I should probably get started on my history paper," she said dully.

"There was a history paper?" asked Xander, looking alarmed.

"Yeah," said Willow, sounding almost hurt. "On Bosnia. Don't you remember? I went over the material with you." Xander banged his head on the table and groaned.

"So, uh, what _are_ we here for?" asked Oz.

"Two things," said Buffy, glad someone had brought the subject back to relevant ground. She looked at Giles as if asking for permission, and he nodded rather wearily. "Firstly, Giles was fired from being a Watcher."

"What?" squeaked Willow. "What do you mean, 'fired'? Like, _fired_ fired? Let go? Unemployed? _Between_ _jobs_?"

"Thank you," said Giles, which put a stop to Willow's increasingly horrified synonym-spouting.

"How did it happen?" asked Xander.

"Oh, apparently I'm a little less heartless than the Council requires," said Giles lightly, his expression glum.

"I'm writing an angry letter," said Willow, still deeply troubled.

"Does that mean you have to go back to England?" asked Cordelia.

"No, I'm staying," said Giles slightly indignantly. It would take more than that to make him leave his charge.

"Oh, good," said Willow, relieved.

"They gonna send a new Watcher?" asked Faith, sounding very apprehensive.

"Yeah," said Buffy.

"Joy," said Faith, scowling.

"Okay, so what's the second thing?" asked Xander.

Buffy fidgeted for a moment, looking nervous. Finally, she took a deep breath and got it over with. "Angel's back," she said. These words triggered a variety of reactions, all of which were negative. Cordelia looked panicked; Xander, shocked and angry; Faith, dangerous; Willow, anxious; and Oz…just looked like Oz. Perhaps the crease between his eyebrows had deepened slightly. It was hard to tell.

"Why didn't you tell us before now?" demanded Xander.

"Maybe because I didn't know until this morning, and then I had to wait for the evil narrow-minded Council guys to go away," said Buffy irritably. Xander opened his mouth to reply heatedly, but then her words sank in and he backed off, looking sheepish.

"Did he do that?" asked Oz, looking at Buffy's neck.

"He didn't think I was real at first," she said, starting to wish that she had just worn a scarf. "He was in Hell for a hundred years, so he thought I was dead and didn't like the idea of a fake me. I managed to convince him that it's just nineteen ninety-nine, though, so it's okay."

"D-does he have a soul?" asked Willow cautiously.

"Yes," said Buffy. "Your spell did the trick."

"So he's not evil," said Xander warily.

"No, he's not. In fact, if the Council had pulled their little stunt with any other vampire, I'd probably be dead by now."

"Oh," said Xander. He seemed to be fighting a fierce mental battle of some kind. Finally, he gave a jerky nod. "Well, okay then. As long as you two keep the smoochies in check." Buffy turned bright red.

"This another vamp we don't get to kill?" asked Faith.

"He's the _only_ vamp we don't get to kill," corrected Buffy. "If Spike hadn't been holding Xander and Willow hostage, there would have been no reason to let him out alive."

"Great," said Faith, looking sour.

"So, everybody okay?" asked Buffy tentatively. Nobody said yes, but they didn't say no either. It was a start.

"Um," said Willow, "how is he back? Do you know?"

"No, I don't. He's been in the Watchers' Council's dungeon for months, though. That's what I kept seeing in my dreams."

"How come Giles didn't know that's where he was?" asked Cordelia, looking at the ex-Watcher suspiciously.

"I've never been to the dungeons at headquarters," said Giles. "Very few Watchers ever go down there, actually. And nobody over there saw fit to tell me that Angel had come back until they brought him along for Buffy's test." He walked away from the group in the direction of his office, muttering darkly about the nerve of the Council for not telling him straight off that Angel had returned.

"Someone's bitter," said Xander once he was out of earshot.

"He's not the only one," said Buffy, sighing and flopping down into an empty chair.

"Is that all?" asked Cordelia.

"Yep," said Buffy.

"And you're sure the world's not ending?"

"Yep." Without further ado, Cordelia departed. Faith and Xander followed not long after. Oz looked at Willow, silently asking if she wanted to do the same, but she was still looking at Buffy.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I told him I'd go see him tonight," said Buffy. "He's staying at his old apartment."

"A-are you two, you know, together?"

Buffy nodded. "There's some stuff we need to figure out, though. I mean, I guess that's obvious. But we don't want to be apart, now that we don't have to be."

"Makes sense," said Oz, reflecting inwardly that he wouldn't trade his second chance with Willow for anything, and thinking that it must be similar for Buffy and Angel. He could not, therefore, begrudge them their second chance, and nor, judging by the hopeful expression on her face, could Willow.

[o]

Wesley's breath puffed out in front of him in little clouds that sparkled in the moonlight, and he shivered, pulled his overcoat more tightly around him, switched his briefcase to his other hand, and continued his purposeful gait up the street. He had hoped it would be a bit warmer this much farther south than England, and perhaps a bit drier, but he had been disappointed on both counts. In fact, Romania seemed even colder than England, what with the snow all over the place.

If he was honest with himself, though, Wesley was amazed that he had come this close already. He had foolishly imagined spending weeks wandering the forested foothills of the Transylvanian Alps north of Bucharest, looking for caravans. Instead, he was in one of the poorer districts of the city itself. As he didn't speak Romanian, he couldn't be entirely sure the people in the city had been talking about this particular area of town, but he felt confident enough in his English to Romanian dictionary to keep walking.

After about an hour's aimless wandering, he decided to get his bearings again. Feeling distinctly awkward, he knocked on the first door of a row of houses that were joined together. A few seconds later, a petite, dark-haired, olive-skinned woman answered the door. With the help of his dictionary, he asked her in fragmented Romanian whether she knew anyone by the name of Kalderash. She looked closely at him for a moment, then nodded and beckoned for him to come inside. He followed her gratefully into the warm and cozy dwelling.

Once the door was closed, the woman promptly disappeared down the narrow entrance hall and around a corner. Wesley waited where she left him, feeling nervous. For lack of anything else to do with himself, he looked around, and, in doing so, noticed two long garlands of garlic hanging on either side of the door, and a cross above it. Though he had only been in Romania for a couple of days, these were not the first signs he had seen that indicated how much more aware of the malignant supernatural these people were than most of their Western European counterparts. It occurred to him then that there might also have been more significance to the woman's lack of verbal invitation than he had initially thought.

After about a minute, she reappeared with a tall, burly man who had the same coloring as her and whose jaw, chin, and upper lip were covered in a thick, short beard that suited his features well.

"We are Kalderash," he said brusquely, by way of an introduction. "What do you want?" His voice was deep and heavily accented, and in spite of how intimidating he was, Wesley was relieved to find someone who spoke English.

"My name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce," he said. "I have traveled here from England." He hesitated, then decided to get straight to the point. "Does the name 'Angelus' mean anything to you?"

Unmistakable recognition flashed through both sets of dark eyes looking back at him. Neither the man nor the woman spoke, though the latter let out a small gasp. From his briefcase, Wesley pulled two books. The first was one of dozens detailing Angelus's many bloody acts during the latter half of the eighteenth and all of the nineteenth centuries. The second was the book that referenced the vampire attack on the Kalderash and the punishment they meted out for it in eighteen ninety-eight.

Wesley held these books out, and the bearded man took them. He opened the first and began to skim through it. His dark eyes widened and his thick eyebrows contracted. He looked through the second one for an even shorter amount of time before closing it with a snap.

"How do you know of our people's history with that beast?" he demanded, advancing menacingly.

"I talked to him about it last month," said Wesley casually, standing his ground.

The man was so taken aback by this that he stopped closing in on him. "And you survived?" he asked, amazed. His expression became somber. "Then you were more fortunate than our cousins, Janna and Enyos." On hearing their names, his wife bowed her head and made the sign of the cross over her chest.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," said Wesley. "However, when I said that I'd met Angelus, I was not referring to the soulless monster who was a blight upon your ancestors. I have only ever encountered him with his soul intact."

"But if you spoke to him only last month, then that is impossible," said the man. "The curse was broken a year ago."

"Indeed it was," Wesley agreed. He looked shrewdly at both of them, and then at the garlands and cross around the door. "Have you perhaps been expecting him to come calling?" The man glared at Wesley in response, but Wesley rather thought he saw a flicker of fear behind his eyes. "Well, you needn't worry about that. The curse was performed again successfully four months later."

"This was not done by any of the Kalderash," said the man, who clearly did not believe Wesley. "Liliana," he indicated the petite woman beside him, "is the granddaughter of our wisest and most accomplished sorceress. She is the only one who could have hoped to perform the curse again."

"That may be," said Wesley, "but I assure you that it was done, with or without the help of your people. Angelus had me at his mercy every day for months, and yet here I stand, completely unharmed. You know better than most, I'm sure, that the odds on me surviving had he truly been the monster from those books at the time would have been impossibly long."

The man still looked skeptical, and Wesley lost some of his patience. "I tell you with _complete certainty_ that he has his soul again!" he insisted loudly, but now he had reached the crucial point, and he would need to proceed both cautiously and politely if he wanted any good to come of this journey. He took several long, calming breaths before continuing. "I am here, sir, to ensure that he _keeps_ it this time."

* * *

Okay, I would just like to say that I have never been to Romania, nor do I know anyone who has ever been there...except I think one of my classmates from when I was in high school, but I doubt he would want to give me details about it for the sake of me writing more accurate fanfiction. So, if I totally screwed that up, I apologize. I did my best with what google searching gave me. Anyway, now we know what Wesley went on research leave for. Bwahaha. The cookies for guessing that correctly go to **Pylea** and **Ally**. Also! The reactions of the Scoobies to the news that Angel is back. Unlike in canon, Buffy actually told them about it right away, it's been long enough since Angelus's brief reign of terror for them to move past it, and Xander is much more over his issues against Angel than he *ever* was in canon. Consequently, mellower reactions.


	23. Not Death, But Love

Okay going on a family reunion camping trip thing like...now, so this is going to be the last update until Sunday at the earliest. Very long car trip to get to the campsite, though, so I might work on it on the road so I can post something as soon as I get back.

* * *

"What…what do you mean?" asked the man, clearly shocked.

"I mean," said Wesley, "that I intend to bind Angelus's soul so that he will not lose it in the event of achieving perfect happiness." He said every word slowly and clearly so that his meaning could not be mistaken.

The man's expression darkened. "But the curse is a punishment," he said. "What vengeance does it serve if he can find joy?"

"You never had your vengeance!" said Wesley, who was finding it increasingly impossible to keep his voice calm. "The human soul was the one you punished, not Angelus!"

"He suffers! It is what we wanted in return for what he did to the most precious daughter of our people!"

"The _soul_ suffers for the crimes of Angelus! You locked the demon away beneath the soul, but you made it so it could be taken away, which would unleash the demon exactly as he was! And the people he killed when he was free. Two of them your cousins! Don't you see it? It's madness!"

"We are not concerned with his victims who are not Kalderash. If the demon does not suffer for what he did to us, why should he keep his soul? That was why we cursed him with it."

"The demon _never_ suffered for what he did to you," said Wesley in frustration. "He is a sadistic, unfeeling monster. As soon as the soul was gone, he killed again without the slightest trace of remorse—with, I imagine, _more_ enjoyment than before, because of being unable to for so long. He was so eager to make up for lost time that he almost had the whole world swallowed into Hell, which, incidentally, would have included every last one of your people! For God's sake, man, this needn't ever have happened! Your Janna and Enyos needn't have died! Why would you forgo the opportunity to ensure that nobody else shares their fate?"

Liliana was peering at Wesley from behind her husband in alarm. "We must have our vengeance," he said. The two men glared at each other for a long moment.

"Then think of this," said Wesley, managing with difficulty to lower his voice from a shout, "Angelus does not suffer for what he has done, but he cannot act when the soul is in control. He must watch, always, powerless to stop it, as the soul not only does not kill, but protects, befriends, and loves humans. He can never taste human blood because the soul will not allow it. He will destroy others of his own kind because the soul despises them as much as he despises himself. How much better of a punishment would it be if there was no escape from that? Angelus's own mind: his prison, from which he must watch as the righteous human soul does good deeds in an attempt to balance out the evil of the demon. And if the soul is _happy_ through all of this? If he is allowed to feel joy in spite of the lingering presence of the demon? There could be no Hell more effective for Angelus than this!"

Liliana tugged at her husband's arm and whispered something to him in Romanian. He replied, pointing at Wesley, which gave the Englishman the impression that he was translating their conversation for her. She looked at Wesley in surprise, then spoke to her husband again. He shook his head, but she became more insistent. Finally, he turned to face Wesley again. "My wife agrees with you," he said. "And after discussing with her, I see the advantage in what you propose." Wesley's heart leapt. From the man's expression through most of Wesley's argument, he had expected to be thrown out into the freezing cold. But the man noticed Wesley's jubilation and looked stern. "However, it is not our place to decide. This concerns all Kalderash. We must discuss it with the elders." He paused, and spoke to his wife again. She nodded. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"Not exactly," said Wesley, who had been staying in a different cheap hotel each night so far.

"Liliana will prepare our guest room for you. I will go to the elders tomorrow."

"Thank you, sir."

The man made a funny expression. "Please, call me Nicolai." Wesley inclined his head, struggling to keep his face from splitting in a wide grin. If the elders were as mule-headed as Nicolai, he shouldn't get too excited yet.

[o]

For Angel, being free after so very long of Hell or imprisonment was incredibly exhilarating. All of a sudden, he had gone from being chained to a wall to being able to do whatever he pleased. The first thing he did upon reaching his apartment--which was indeed just how he had left it, if a bit dustier--, after removing Buffy's ring from his pocket and placing it carefully on his nightstand, was to throw the ragged pair of pants he'd been wearing for his entire stay in the Council's dungeon unceremoniously into the garbage. The second thing he did was take a very long, hot, and through shower. Though any physical traces of Hell hadn't survived the blinding light that brought him back, it felt wonderful to rid his skin of the layer of grime it had acquired from his cell. He was surprised that Buffy had even wanted to touch him in that state. It hadn't been as bad as when he lived in alleys, but not by much.

After the shower, Angel eagerly donned clean boxers and slacks. Wearing a shirt was probably the most foreign of all his rediscovered freedoms, second only to the option of sleeping on an actual bed, which he did gratefully after he'd finished showering and dressing. He remembered that he used to sleep in boxers or nothing, but thought it wouldn't be a good idea to do so now if he was still asleep when Buffy arrived. He needn't have worried about that, however, as he only slept for a few hours.

He walked slowly around the apartment, running his fingers down the spines of his books. On the shelf below, he spotted his sketchbook and charcoals, and he picked them up tenderly, sat down in his chair, and began to draw. If his inherent ability to differentiate night and day had atrophied, his drawing ability certainly had not. In no time at all, a two-dimensional, black and white replica of Buffy, standing in that shaft of sunlight as he had first seen her that morning, had all but come to life on the page.

Angel shifted in his chair, and the light from his lamp glinted off something small. He looked up and saw that it was the Claddagh ring, still sitting on the nightstand. It, along with the dreams and his newfound friendship with Wesley, had been what kept him going in that cell. But now that he was back, he realized that he didn't need it anymore. It had been Buffy's, and it should be hers again. Remembering that she'd mentioned that it was her birthday, he chuckled. Even though the ring had acquired so much more meaning in the intervening year, he couldn't give it to her as a birthday present again, could he? Not unless there was something else he could add to it.

[o]

Buffy felt slightly guilty as her mom doted on her all afternoon, because all she really wanted to do was go to Angel's apartment. He was back. He was really back. And after everything that had happened, he still wanted to be with her. She kept repeating it in her head, and whenever her mom asked what she was smiling about, she would just say it was because of her birthday. But she was going to have to tell her about Angel soon. She'd already told everyone else, and it hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd feared. How was she supposed to tell her, though? _"Hey, Mom, guess what? Remember Angel, that vampire I was dating behind your back last year and lost my virginity to which made him go evil and then I had to send him to Hell? Well, he's back, and we're together again." _Um, no. She'd have to figure out a much more careful strategy for her mom than the one she had used on Giles and her friends.

After what seemed to be weeks, rather than hours, the sun finally neared the horizon. Since she still didn't have her strength back, she had decided to leave before sunset, just in case. "Bye, Mom, I'm going on patrol," she called from the door.

"Okay, honey," Joyce called back from the kitchen. "Be careful!"

It took all of Buffy's self-control not to sprint the whole way there. She didn't want to arrive all sweaty and windswept and gross. But even though she managed to keep her pace at a walk, her heart was still hammering wildly by the time she arrived, so that she doubted she'd even need to knock for him to hear her there. Sure enough, she hadn't even raised her hand to rap her knuckles against the door when she heard his voice say, "Come in! It's unlocked."

She smiled and opened the door, then let out a gasp of delight. Somehow, Angel had managed to prepare an incredibly delicious-looking meal for her, which was set up on the rug, lit by candles, and surrounded by cushions. Angel was standing next to all of this, looking slightly awkward. "Uh, happy birthday," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"How did you get all of the stuff for this during the day?" she asked, her smile growing wider.

He shrugged. "I can get pretty much anywhere through the sewers and electrical tunnels. How'd it go with Travers and the other men from the Council?"

"They're gone," she said. "But Giles was fired, so they're going to send a new Watcher." Her smile faded, to be replaced by a worried look. "What if whoever it is finds out about you—about us?"

"Hey, it's okay," he said, taking her hand and leading her over to the cushions on the floor, where they sat down together. "We'll figure something out." She smiled gratefully and started on the food, which was even more delicious than it had smelled.

"Mmm. You know, for a guy who doesn't eat, you're a pretty amazing cook. How does that work?"

"I follow the recipe," he said, smirking. "But that's not all," he added, more seriously. He pulled two items from underneath one of the cushions.

Her eyes widened when she spotted the first. "Is that—how did you find that?" She took the silver ring from his outstretched hand and stared at it in awe.

"I became friends with one of the Watchers when I was in that dungeon. He had it, and he gave it to me. I never asked him how he got it."

"I left it in the mansion," she said. She felt like her heart was constricting her air passages. "It hurt too much to keep it, so I left it where I lost you."

"If you don't want it—," began Angel quickly, but she shook her head and put it on, heart pointing in. He smiled, then remembered. "I have something else for you." He handed her the second item, which, unlike the ring, was wrapped. Buffy looked at him curiously before removing the wrapping paper as carefully as she could. It was a small book with a brown leather cover. She opened it to the title page, which identified it as _Sonnets from the Portuguese_ by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. She remembered studying some of the poems from it in her English class the year before. Beneath the title was one beautifully hand-scripted word. She traced her fingers over the letters.

"Always," she read. Her vision blurred. Less than twelve hours ago, she had believed she would never see him again. And yet here they were, together. She never thought things would get this close to perfect again.

* * *

I love writing angry Wesley. He can still make very clear points even when he's shouting at a much larger man who could easily squish him if he crosses a line. This is the only thing Wesley can think of doing to really help Angel, and gosh darn it, he's going to make sure it gets done. Now to the Buffy/Angel stuff. I wouldn't imagine that Angel would take any of the things he has for granted after what he's been through, so it makes a day that could otherwise be considered fairly average into pretty much his best day ever. (Also, he's at the apartment instead of the mansion mostly just because I like it better, but also because I think he'd prefer living in the place with fewer bad memories.) And Buffy is much happier than she was in canon "Helpless" at the moment, so it enables her to be properly touched by the awesome birthday present. I should have known I wouldn't be able to make it through a Buffy/Angel fic without taking at least one chapter title from that that poetry book. Also, ring! Yay!


	24. Victory and Defeat

Hi! Back from camping. Here's an extra long chapter for you.

* * *

After getting Nicolai and Liliana on his side, Wesley felt much more confident that he would succeed in his goal to permanently anchor Angel's soul. That had been nearly a week ago, however. True to his word, Nicolai had gone to present Wesley's argument before the elders, but when he returned that first day, his news was neither good nor bad. Wesley's proposal would require a thorough discussion; something that could not be resolved in a matter of minutes—or even hours. Every single elder would have to come to a consensus before a decision was reached. Records and legends of their first encounter with Angelus were examined, details provided by Wesley of Angel's present temperament and morality were contemplated, and benefits were weighed. Before all else, however, came the Kalderash people's unquenchable thirst for vengeance. If they could not be persuaded that what Wesley had in mind would satisfy this thirst more fully, then all of his trouble would be for naught.

Despite this discouraging delay and nerve-wracking back and forth deliberation among the elders, the home of Nicolai Kalderash was not an unpleasant place to stay. Liliana was quite possibly the best cook Wesley had ever met, and her small boys, Vladimir and Stefan, were both sweet-tempered, polite, and much too adorable for their own good. Wesley felt sure that he owed much of Liliana's support to her desire to ensure that her sons would be able to grow up safe from the threat of Angelus. She, at least, understood that vengeance was a destructive cycle from which good could rarely come, and she had no interest in letting it continue if it put the people she loved most in danger.

The natural consequence of Liliana's mindset was that Nicolai dutifully returned to the elders every day to do everything he could to advocate Wesley's proposal. His report that day on returning home had been that only Alexandru and Dragomir were still having doubts. Fresh hope burgeoned within Wesley and the good news inspired Liliana to outdo herself in the kitchen. Wesley didn't know how he'd be able to go back to cooking his own meals when this was over.

[o]

Buffy had been hoping for a nice, calm day to inform her mother that Angel was back, but, by the looks of things, that day wasn't going to come anytime soon. Only a week had passed since his return, and there was already another apocalypse brewing.

The one advantage of this was that it helped to cement Angel's position among the good guys, because this was really not a situation in which they had the luxury of being picky about their allies. Willow and Oz were already supportive and welcoming before the supernatural horizon had even begun to darken, and Giles, remarkably, was not far behind them, but the extra nudge of impending doom was very helpful in getting Xander and Faith to fully come around. Cordelia had gone back to shunning the lot of them, so it made no difference to her either way.

Angel's return had also not gone unnoticed by Sunnydale's demonic community. It didn't take long—given the fact that he was patrolling with Buffy every night—for them to realize that he was not playing for their team this time. To Buffy's great alarm, this meant that he was one of the primary targets of the Sisterhood of Jhe, the group of demons responsible for the current trouble.

As the situation in Sunnydale became steadily more ominous, Buffy had decided to pay a visit to Willy the Snitch, from whom she got rather more than she bargained for. She had been prepared to either hit or bribe him for information, depending on how annoying he decided to be, but someone had beaten her to it. Horribly injured, Willy offered the information she wanted freely, but it was not good news. Not only was the apocalypse mere hours away, but Willy's attackers had been looking for Angel.

[o]

Buffy didn't even try to conceal her panic as she sprinted in the direction of Angel's apartment. She'd only had him back for a week, and there was no way she was going to let those blue-skinned harpies take him away from her again.

It was lucky that Angel opened the door about a second after she began to knock, or she probably would have torn it down in her haste to make sure he was okay. As it was, she nearly bowled him over by the force with which she threw herself into his arms.

"Thank God you're alright," she said into his chest as she clung tightly to him. Her voice came out high and squeaky.

"There a reason I shouldn't be?" he asked, beginning to stroke her hair.

Buffy pulled back to look at him out of slightly bloodshot eyes. "Willy said those Sisterhood demons were looking for you," she said. "And me," she added.

"Oh. That probably explains why I ran into a couple of them on the way back from the butcher's."

"What happened?" she asked, alarmed.

"Killed 'em," he said, shrugging. He looked more closely at her and frowned. "Buffy, it's nothing new for demons to be after us. What else is wrong?"

"Willy might have also said that the apocalypse is going to happen tonight."

"Do you need to call Giles?" he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the phone.

"Yeah, thanks." She hurried over and made the call. The conversation was short and not as comforting as Buffy had hoped.

"He says to wait until he and Willow get everything set up," she said restlessly.

"Shouldn't we be picking off more of the demons?" asked Angel.

"He doesn't want us to risk it. We're gonna need to be running at all cylinders if we want to stop these guys from opening the Hellmouth, so we should just sit tight." Which, they realized simultaneously, left them confined together in his apartment.

"Uh. Want to do some training?" he asked. Buffy seized on the suggestion with relief, and Angel began to direct her in the slow, graceful movements of tai chi. She learned quickly and they were soon flowing through the motions together as if they were steps to a dance they both knew by heart.

From what little Giles had told her of the martial art, Buffy understood it to be primarily an exercise to improve one's circulation and breathing during a fight, so she was not sure how it was a useful technique for Angel to have mastered—nor why he felt the need to dispense with his shirt before beginning. Not that she was complaining. Whatever benefit it may or may not have had for Angel, it left Buffy feeling remarkably calm and rejuvenated. She felt much more like the unstoppable force she would need to be when the time came to face the Sisterhood of Jhe than she might have been otherwise.

Just when their training session started to lean in a distinctly less professional direction, it was interrupted by a rapid series of knocks on the door. They jumped apart and Angel went to see who was there, feeling both annoyed and sheepish.

It was Xander. "Hey," he said awkwardly. "I've got this, um...," he stumbled over his words, fidgeting and looking from Buffy to Angel and back again. "There's this, uh...." They could almost see his nerve abandoning him. "This is probably a bad time, isn't it?" Both of them nodded mutely. He turned to go, then stopped, hand on the doorknob. "Can I help?" he asked hopefully. They shook their heads, and he slunk back out, looking crestfallen.

Once he had closed the door behind him, Buffy and Angel barely had time to exchange bemused glances before the phone rang. It was Giles, and the call was even shorter than the first. "Time to go," said Buffy after hanging up.

[o]

"They've agreed!" Nicolai announced the moment he walked through the door.

"Really?" asked Wesley.

"Yah!" said Nicolai robustly. He turned to Liliana and repeated the news in Romanian. She beamed and hugged him.

Wesley, meanwhile, had taken complete leave of his dignity, and was performing a triumphant little jig where he stood (which sent Vladimir and Stefan into peals of laughter). "This is fantastic!" he cried. "I can't thank you enough! Oh, I can't wait to tell Angel about this. When will it be finished?"

"They are waiting until sunset," said Nicolai.

"That's not even an hour off!" said Wesley. He couldn't remember ever being this excited about anything—not even when he was made Head Boy at the Academy. "You're quite sure they're going to do it, aren't you?"

"As sure as I am that my name is Nicolai Iosif Kalderash," he said.

[o]

"Oh, my God," said Giles. "It's grown." The slimy, three-headed beast that had erupted from the Hellmouth when the Master escaped was back, bigger and nastier than before.

"I've got the middle head," said Buffy, lunging forward with her battleaxe. Angel took the head to her right, while Faith went for the one on the left. Behind them, Giles and Willow began the spell that would bind the monster once more.

Angel, Buffy, and Faith ducked and weaved about the three heads, hacking at them with their weapons whenever they could. It shrieked in pain and frustration, writhing more fiercely. Faith was momentarily knocked to the floor when the head she was fighting swung around like a whip and caught her in the legs, but a quick kip-up and she was back on her feet, ready for more. Buffy had jumped on top of the middle head and brought her axe thudding down into its horribly glutinous flesh. It screamed and flailed, and she hung on for dear life.

Angel's latest blow had severed the feelers on top of the right head, but it hadn't even retaliated when he doubled over, feeling as if his insides were being ripped apart.

"Angel!" Buffy cried, but her momentary inattention cost her, and she was flung off of the middle head so hard that she flew through the library doors and skidded down the hall. All three heads came roaring after her. "Faith, go for the heart!" she yelled, running as fast as she could back into the fray, dodging the screeching heads.

Inside the library, Angel was still on the ground, his face contorted with agony, but there was no time to go to him. Buffy caught up her axe again, then hastily rolled to avoid the nearest of the lunging heads, which crashed through the wall as it missed her.

Faith threw her sword, and it hit its mark right below where the three long necks joined. The monster's screams increased in both pitch and volume. While it was distracted by the gruesome wound Faith had inflicted upon it, Buffy stole another glance in Angel's direction just in time to see bright beams of reddish-white light come pouring from his eyes and mouth. Then the light faded and he lay motionless on the ground amid an avalanche of books that had been knocked from their shelves. Buffy screamed his name again and ran towards him, but one of the thrashing heads caught her in the back, and she slammed down to the ground.

"Omnia...vasa...veritatis!" shouted Giles over the sound of the chaos around them. The binding spell was complete. "Now, Buffy!"

But Buffy was still on the floor, and Faith was too far away. Behind Giles, Willow screamed. The monster had transformed. The three heads had become one, its terrible features now sharply defined and more frightening than ever. Horror shot through him, but he had to act. He grabbed Buffy's axe and ran forward. The beast lunged, and for a moment it seemed that Giles would be swallowed, but then the thing let out a long, ear-splitting cry. The axe's head was completely buried in the roof of its mouth. With a series of blinding flashes of light, the dying beast retreated, until, finally, it was gone.

Buffy groaned and lifted her head. She could see Angel stirring too and she collapsed again in relief.

They made it.

Another apocalypse averted.

[o]

Wesley had been sorry to say goodbye to Nicolai, Liliana, and their sons, but he was keen enough to tell Angel what he had done to make up for it. And, in any case, he and Nicolai had promised to keep in touch, so it wasn't too bad. He arrived back at headquarters at roughly nine in the morning the next day, and struggled to keep his eagerness and triumph from showing as he walked to Quentin Travers's office.

"Oh, good morning. I didn't know you were back already," said Quentin after Wesley had knocked and entered.

"I only just arrived, sir," he said. "Now, if Tobias hasn't already done it, I'd be more than happy to resume my duties with Angelus today."

Quentin shook his head dismissively. "No need," he said.

"What do you mean?" asked Wesley, feeling a growing sense of foreboding. What had happened while he was gone?

Quentin frowned at him. "Weren't you aware that Angelus was to be used for the Slayer's Cruciamentum?"

Wesley's eyes widened. Oh, God. "What?" His voice was faint and distant. "No, I—"

"Oh. I thought I'd told you," said Quentin. "No matter. Angelus is dust. The Slayer passed, even if she does have a bit of a problem with her attitude. However, I believe that may have been due more to the ill-advised methods of Rupert Giles than any real shortcoming on her part. Which, incidentally, is why the other Council members and I have selected you, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, to take his place as her Watcher."

* * *

Bwahaha. Totally managed to work the shirtless tai chi in after all. Because the story would have been utter rubbish without some of that, right? Anyway, this was obviously the alternate version of "The Zeppo", with the happy difference that we don't have to follow Xander around the whole time. And I'm pretty sure Angel's soul didn't get bound during that fight in canon. Something else must have knocked him out for a few minutes. I pieced together as much of that fight against the giant wormy monster thingy as I could from the tiny snippets we got about it in the actual episode. Also, how sad for Wesley now. All of that trouble in Romania only to come back and be informed that his friend is dead and he's going to have to be the new mentor of the girl who killed him. Oh, the dramatic irony.


	25. Failure to Communicate

Six months ago, Wesley would have done almost anything to be given responsibility over an actual Slayer—let alone two of them. He would have been eager to prove himself in the field and put his years of study to the test. But now, however, he'd much rather remain in London to research demons and not be noticed.

He packed his books slowly, as if he could stretch the task long enough that Mr. Travers would change his mind and send someone else instead. He had been avoiding clearing off his desk, which was still piled with the now slightly dusty records about Angelus. But every time he turned to put more books from his shelves into the box sitting on his chair, he saw it all sitting there, the solitary journal he had filled out with the century's worth of information Angel had given him resting on top.

How could he have been so careless? Staying cooped up on his own with his books all the time, so intent upon deciphering the past that he was unaware of the present—unaware that his superiors were planning to set a Slayer against his friend. What had happened? Had Angel refused to fight her and simply let her kill him? Had he attempted to escape or tried to convince her that he was not the same as the monster she had sent to Hell months ago? No, of course he hadn't. After all, Angel could have told him right away about his soul, but he had not. He appreciated kindness and mercy, but he never asked for it; never defended himself, and always took responsibility for the past he couldn't control.

But could he, Wesley, have done anything to prevent it if he hadn't left for a week and a half to go on his harebrained scheme? In all likelihood, he wouldn't have been able to do anything at all, apart from getting himself into trouble as well, but the fact that he had been so ignorant and that he hadn't been there to at least _try_ made him feel ill.

He had done it all wrong. He should have realized that the Council wouldn't simply keep Angel locked away in that cell forever. He had ensured that Angel would not lose his soul, but it had been his life that was in greater jeopardy. What had been the point of getting the Kalderash to anchor Angel's soul while he was in a dungeon, anyway? It wasn't as if the vampire would have found perfect happiness in that cold, damp prison. If he'd only had the sense to break Angel out first! Now it was all for nothing, and what had become of Angel's soul? Was he back in Hell, or did someone other than Wesley and the girl from Angel's story understand that he deserved better?

Wesley shoved the next few books into the box with unnecessary force, so that the ancient spine of one of them parted company with its pages. How was he supposed to do this? _Train_ the Slayer who had killed Angel? She probably didn't know what she had done—or, if she did, she might not have appreciated the significance of his soul. He shouldn't hold it against a Slayer for killing a vampire—it was what she had been chosen to do, and nowhere in the job description did it make an exception for vampires with souls. Try as he might to remain this objective, though, Wesley could not stop himself from blaming Buffy Summers. Having someone else to blame spared him from some of the guilt he felt himself, and it distracted him from both his failure and his grief.

No matter how slowly he went, he had still packed everything he needed by the end of the day, and found himself shortly thereafter on a plane to California.

[o]

Wesley's outlook on his new assignment did not improve with his arrival at the library of Sunnydale High, where, instead of helping him unpack his books, Rupert Giles demanded that he see identification and various other forms of proof that he was a Watcher, then phoned the Council to verify his story. After that, he merely sat on the table with his back to Wesley, an expression of stony, irritated boredom on his face. When a school-aged girl with red hair entered, she looked at him curiously before conversing cheerfully with Mr. Giles for a few minutes.

"She seemed to know rather a lot about the Slayer," Wesley observed with a small frown after she had gone.

"Well, they _are_ best friends," replied Mr. Giles dryly.

Wesley shot an affronted look at the older Watcher's back—which, of course, went unnoticed by him—and did not attempt to talk to him again. He occupied himself instead by going through all of his training in his mind. His perfectionist tendencies meant that he was determined to do this job well, even if the thought of training the girl who killed his friend made him shudder.

"Hello, Buffy," said Mr. Giles unexpectedly about twenty minutes later. Wesley turned to see a petite, blonde young woman eyeing him warily. It took a great deal of self-restraint not to glare coldly at her and ball his hands into fists. He put the book he'd been holding down and walked around the table towards her.

"Hello," he said stiffly.

Buffy continued to look at him appraisingly. "New Watcher?" she asked.

"New Watcher," confirmed Mr. Giles.

Wesley stepped forward and extended a hand. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce," he said. Buffy did not shake his hand, and he withdrew it, not terribly sorry that his feeble attempt at cordiality had been rejected.

Still not taking her eyes off him, Buffy stepped towards Mr. Giles. "Is he evil?"

"Evil?" asked Wesley. He was indignant. _Him_, evil? He wasn't the one who had killed an innocent, ensouled being!

"The last one was evil," said Buffy.

"Oh," said Wesley, realizing what she had meant. "Gwendolyn Post. Yes, we all heard." Mr. Travers had attempted to keep that embarrassing piece of information in Mr. Giles's most recent report from the rest of them at headquarters, but hadn't done a very good job of it. "No, Mr. Giles has checked my credentials rather thoroughly—and phoned the Council—but I'm glad to see you're on the ball as well." He leaned closer, which caused the other two to lean away. "A good Slayer is a cautious Slayer," he said, then stepped back.

"Is he evil?" Buffy asked again. Wesley made an impatient noise in the back of his throat.

"Not in the strictest sense," said Mr. Giles.

"Well, I'm glad that's cleared up," said Wesley loudly. He walked back around to his boxes and picked up a blank journal while Buffy sat next to Mr. Giles on the edge of the table. "As I'm sure none of us is anxious to waste any time on pleasantries," himself included, he thought, "why don't you tell me everything about last night's patrol?"

"Vampires," said Buffy.

"Yes?" asked Wesley tersely.

"Killed 'em."

Well, obviously. "Anything _else_ you can tell me?" he asked, annoyed.

Things did not improve as the discussion went on, though, admittedly, Wesley was not in a mood to do much to rectify this. He was, at least, able to quickly identify the sword-wielding vampire Buffy had faced as an acolyte of Balthazar, but her constantly flippant attitude towards him and Mr. Giles's apparent disinclination to discourage it made him steadily more irritated and resentful all the time. This was going to be a nightmare.

Shortly after Wesley had instructed Buffy to go to the Gleaves family crypt to retrieve Balthazar's amulet (and received yet another insolent answer in return), a girl with dark hair, dark makeup, and dark clothing strode into the library.

"Ah," said Wesley, "this is perhaps Faith." He hoped, in spite of her rather dangerous appearance, that he might have found an ally. He had no grudge against _this_ Slayer, after all.

Faith stopped in her tracks and stared at Wesley with obvious distaste. "New Watcher?" she asked the other two.

"New Watcher," they said together.

Faith snorted. "Screw that," she said, before turning on her heel and walking straight back out again. Wesley's heart sank. Yes, this was going to be a nightmare.

"Now, why didn't _I _just say that?" asked Buffy.

"Er, Buffy," said Mr. Giles patiently. "Would you…"

"I'll see if I can get her back," she said, sliding off the table. "Don't say anything incredibly interesting while I'm gone."

Wesley glared after her and removed his glasses to clean them with his handkerchief. He was beginning to wish rather fervently that Mr. Travers had sent Tobias or someone else instead of him.

[o]

The meeting with her new Watcher was like a fly buzzing around Buffy's head for the rest of the day. He had been pompous, snobby, and bossy, and she had also gotten the distinct impression that he didn't like her at all. She had hoped that Giles's replacement would be like, well, Giles—if possibly a little stricter. She had hoped he would be someone she could eventually trust to keep her confidences as Giles did. Instead, she found herself faced with the same situation she had with Mrs. Post, except that Angel was really back instead of just in her dreams, and this new Watcher was assigned to her as well as Faith. She and Angel were going to have to tread very lightly around him.

That led her thoughts down another road she didn't want to travel: she still hadn't told her mother that Angel was back, good, and dating her again. She really couldn't keep putting that off. The longer she waited, the more likely it was that her mom would find out about him some other way. She had been thinking about it a lot, though, and was pretty sure that the plan she had come up with would have the best results.

[o]

Not long after sunset, a knock sounded on the door, and Angel put his book down and went to open it. As he had expected, his visitor was Buffy. His eyes crinkled in a smile that barely touched his mouth. She smiled back and he moved aside to let her enter, then closed the door.

"Something bothering you?" he asked.

Buffy chuckled. He could read her so well that it was almost unnerving, but it did give her an opening into the subject. "I think we need to tell Mom about you—us," she said.

Angel winced slightly. "How are we going to get around what I said to her last year?" he asked.

"She knows I'm the Slayer now, and she's trying to be all super-supportive about it. Plus, she found out that you're a vampire right around when I dropped the Slayer bomb on her."

"Oh."

"I thought maybe if I talked to her and then you came over for dinner, it could be okay. I mean," she snorted, "if Mom can give Spike hot chocolate and relationship advice, she should be able to handle this."

"Your mom gave _Spike_ hot chocolate?" asked Angel. Despite the oddness of the concept, it was strangely easy to picture. Spike had always been emotionally needy—a quality he attempted to hide beneath the violent, snarky exterior. Angel shook his head. "Let me know when you've talked to her about dinner."

"I will," she said, feeling a small portion of her stress drain away. Most of it was still there, however, and it pressed down on her uncomfortably. "There's something else, too."

"What?" he asked.

"My new Watcher showed up today."

"Not what you expected?"

"Well, I wanted to get a Giles two-point-oh, but the Council was fresh out." They sat down on the couch together and Buffy leaned her head against Angel's shoulder. "He already doesn't like me for some reason, so he'd probably call in the tweed cavalry if he found out about you."

"I'll be careful," said Angel with a smirk, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer.

Buffy grinned teasingly. "Yeah, 'cause you can do that sexy melt-into-the-shadows thing whenever he shows up."

"Sexy, huh?" he asked, his smirk broadening. He bent his head and kissed her, but she broke away fairly quickly.

"Hey," she said, poking him warningly in the chest, "sexy or not, you only get to do it when he shows up."

"Okay," he said, grinning and resuming the kiss.

Though it started out playful and innocent, it did not remain so. Soon, it surpassed the kiss they had shared in the alley outside the boarding house as each crushed the other to them with all of their considerable strength. It wasn't until several minutes later that they came to their senses, and, with no small amount of effort, broke apart.

"I, um. I should go," said Buffy uncomfortably, standing up and straightening her shirt. "I'm supposed to be finding an amulet."

"Want help?" asked Angel slightly hoarsely, standing as well and walking with her to the door.

"Nah," she said casually, trying to ignore the painful ache in her chest. "Stuffy new Watcher-man says the amulet belongs to a dead demon and that the sword guy from last night's buddies just wanted something to remember him by, or whatever. No biggie." She stood on the tips of her toes and gave him a very brief goodbye kiss, then departed.

* * *

So here I go with alternate "Bad Girls", giving Buffy and Wesley bonus, albeit misguided, reasons to dislike each other. Even though most of the lines in the conversation with Wesley, Giles, and Buffy were from canon, the emotions behind them (mostly Wesley's) were not (hence the conversation being from his perspective). I almost went through that entire dialogue, but then realized that I could accomplish what I needed to with much less. And then some lovely Buffy/Angel snoggage! Yay!


	26. Brownie Points

Sorry for the delay again; I was busy writing the update for "Season 9" and then this chapter didn't like me very much at first. Happily, though, I finally managed to beat it into submission, and it is now here for your enjoyment!

* * *

If Buffy didn't like Wesley Wyndam-Pryce after her initial encounter with him, she liked him even less after her second. Not only was he still being abrupt with her to the point of blatant rudeness, but she kept catching him glaring at her out of the corner of her eye whenever he thought she wouldn't notice. What was his problem? What had she ever done to him?

What irritated Buffy more than Wesley's inexplicable dislike of her, however, was his apparent determination to control her life. He gave her orders like she was a trained monkey or something, and he tried to stop her from talking to Giles. And then, even when she followed the orders—she had brought him the amulet, after all, and was nearly killed in the process—he had the nerve to second-guess her, and didn't so much as thank her for her efforts.

All of this heaped on top of her anxiety about hiding Angel from him, despite her confidence in Angel's talent for stealthiness, was the perfect recipe for rebellious behavior, which was something Faith was quite happy to encourage. It was exhilarating. Never before had Buffy allowed herself to revel so thoroughly in being a Slayer. She felt completely untouchable. Cutting class in the middle of her chemistry test didn't even faze her. And what was really wrong about what she was doing anyway? She had only left to lay waste to a nest of vampires with Faith, after all. She was still making Sunnydale a safer place; why not have some fun while doing it? And what did it matter if a side effect was that she wasn't spending as much time with her other friends as she normally would? They would be safer if they stayed away from this part of her life anyway. Buffy refused to feel guilty about any of it.

[o]

Late in the evening, after an adrenaline-charged day of demon-hunting, Buffy and Faith could be found at the Bronze, dancing amidst a crowd of mesmerized and slightly hormone-crazed boys. Faith was right, Buffy thought: they had totally earned this.

Just when she was starting to really feel a little uncomfortable under the heat of the press of bodies around her, she spotted Angel at the edge of the dance floor. She smiled, thinking that if she could get him to dance with her, it would be the perfect way to cool down, but he turned, looking as if he was going to leave. He wasn't getting away that easily. Buffy left Faith there with the boys, which the dark-haired Slayer didn't seem to mind at all, and weaved her way through the crowd towards him.

"Hey!" she said, jumping up to wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. "You're not leaving, are you?"

"I saw you making friends," said Angel, glancing over at Faith and the many boys dancing around her.

"Them?" said Buffy dismissively. "Boys! I like you." She brought her face closer, so that they were nose-to-nose. Angel didn't react, and she reluctantly hopped down. "What's the matter?" she teased coyly. "You're not afraid of little me, are ya?"

"We'd better sit down," he said. "Come on." She took one of his hands in both of hers and let him lead her over to an alcove behind the stairs.

"I can sense this is a business trip," she said in disappointment. They sat down together, Angel's expression still serious. "What's the what?" she asked flippantly.

"Balthazar," he said.

She snuggled closer to him, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Dead demon," she said unconcernedly.

"Not as dead as you think," he said stiffly, getting up to sit across from her, wondering where _his_ Buffy had gone and how much longer he would have to endure the current reckless, irresponsible model. Buffy pouted but didn't follow him. "Word on the street puts him in the packing warehouse on Devereau. He's looking for—"

"His amulet," said Buffy. "It's supposed to restore his strength."

"From what I'm hearing, that's not something we'd like to see happen," said Angel, clearly more at ease now that she was focusing on the problem.

"No problem," she said. "We've got the amulet."

"I know," he said. "I spoke to Giles, but he said you gave it to someone." He glanced around idly and saw, to his astonishment, Wesley, who looked thoroughly bad-tempered and whose eyes were fixed on Buffy. Angel's face split in an incredulous smile.

Wesley hadn't noticed Angel. He had been all over town looking for his charges, since Mr. Giles hadn't seen fit to give him a hint as to where they might have gone, and the bouncer had just made him pay to come in. As if he would actually come to a place like this for fun! When he finally spotted Buffy, therefore, he was determined not to let her out of his sight. "Ah. There you are," he said accusingly.

Buffy groaned at the sound of her Watcher's voice and turned to look at him, and it took about two seconds for her expression to go from annoyed to horrified. There he was, and Angel was still in plain sight. Why was he still in plain sight? She had to distract Wesley so he wouldn't see him, but her mind was suddenly and unhelpfully blank.

It was then that Wesley finally glanced at the black-clad man sitting across from Buffy, then did a double-take. "Angel?" he said, completely bewildered. "You're alive?" Wesley looked back at Buffy, who frowned and glanced at Angel. Fear gripped him. "Quick, Angel, that's the Slayer! You've got to get out of here!" He rounded on Buffy with a determined expression. "I'll distract her."

"You're not taking him back to that dungeon!" said Buffy loudly, jumping up to stand between them. Then they both seemed to realize the implications of what they had said and paused, confused. At that point, Angel actually burst out laughing. This surprised both Slayer and Watcher so much that they forgot about their attempts to get the ensouled vampire away from each other.

"Okay, you two can stop hating each other on my behalf now," said Angel, getting to his feet, his expression still full of laughter. "It's good to see you again, Wes," he added, moving to stand next to Buffy rather than behind her and shaking Wesley's hand warmly.

"Again? You guys know each other?" asked Buffy, gaping at her Watcher, whose mouth was now hanging open rather comically.

"Wesley's the reason I didn't starve when I was in that cell," Angel explained.

"Yes," said Wesley. "We're very good friends, actually."

_The only friend I've had since I was alive_, Angel added mentally, _and a better one than most of them were_. It meant more to him than he could say.

Buffy's mouth fell open too, and she saw Wesley in an entirely new light. "Really?" she asked him, starting to smile.

Wesley, still very confused, tried and failed to look modest, then cleared his throat, wanting to clarify something once and for all. "Am I to understand that you _don't_ intend to kill him?"

"Uh, yeah…," said Buffy slowly.

Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place in Wesley's brain. "Of course! You faked your death!" he said to Angel. "That's why Mr. Travers thought you were dust. I must say, I doubt I could ever have come up with such a tidy escape plan. The Council won't even look for you now."

"That was the idea," said Buffy.

Wesley looked at her and suddenly felt ashamed of himself. He lowered his eyes to the floor at her feet. "Forgive me for my behavior towards you earlier. Your ruse worked quite well. I thought you to be his killer and resented you rather a lot for it."

"It's okay," said Buffy, who now felt a little foolish herself for not trusting him. "Everything you did for Angel pretty much wins you back all of the brownie points you lost before and then some."

"Thank you." Wesley paused. "Why are you glad that I helped him? And why didn't you kill him during your Cruciamentum?" he asked curiously. "What reason did you have for letting him live? You are the Slayer, and he is a vampire, after all."

Buffy fidgeted, unsure of how to answer. Just because Wesley and Angel were friends, it didn't necessarily mean that he, a Watcher, would approve of their relationship. Angel, meanwhile, was having far too much fun watching each individual light bulb click on over Wesley's head to provide any of the answers himself. In the awkward silence broken only by the sound of the band playing, Wesley's gaze was drawn to Buffy's fidgeting hands. She was twisting a silver ring around and around her left ring finger, apparently unconsciously. Wesley's eyes widened. It was the Claddagh ring.

"You're the girl from Angel's story!" he said, his mouth open again in amazement. He looked at Angel indignantly. "You never told me she was a Slayer."

Angel shrugged. "You never asked."

"Wait," said Buffy. "You _know_? About _everything_? Me, Slayer, dating a vampire, and you're _okay_ with it?"

"Certainly!" said Wesley huffily. "I won't pretend I'm not surprised, but if it's a choice between that and him being slain, then of course I prefer the former. We Watchers are not all as narrow-minded as Quentin Travers. Personally, I prefer to rely on fact and observation, rather than prejudice and stereotyping. Angel's being a vampire is not the issue. It's the soul that counts, and that makes him as good as human in my book. Who am I, therefore, to stand between him and the woman he loves, and is it really any of my business if she happens to be a Slayer?"

Buffy was speechless again, but this time with respect and gratitude. So was Angel. Wesley's vehement faith in him was a little difficult to grasp even now. The young Watcher breathed deeply for a few seconds, trying to organize everything he had just learned, but it all seemed so incredible to him. After befriending a vampire with a soul, he would have thought fewer things would surprise him, but apparently not. "It's good to see you out of the dungeon, incidentally," he said, "though I never got the chance to tell you where I went when I was on research leave. It was going to be a surprise, but then you were gone—and, as far as the Council knew, dead—by the time I returned, and I thought it was all for nothing."

"Research leave?" said Buffy, wondering what this could possibly have to do with the conversation they'd been having. Angel looked at Wesley questioningly.

"I went to Romania, Angel," he said, his expression full of meaning.

"Romania," Angel repeated. Something deep inside of him seemed to realize what Wesley was getting at, but the rest was too cautious to hope. He could not, however, crush the sense of anticipation he felt, and he found Buffy's hand and clasped it tightly.

"I found the Kalderash people," Wesley continued. "It took a while, but I managed to convince them that their vengeance would be better served if Angelus could never be free again."

"Then…," said Angel, his unnecessary breath catching in his chest. He could feel Buffy clutching his hand back now with almost enough pressure to break bones.

"They've anchored your soul."

* * *

So the key players are all *finally* up to speed. Buffy and Wesley being almost ready to fight each other to protect Angel was something I've been waiting to write for quite a few chapters. *snicker* Also, the first chunk was a really good opportunity to get inside Buffy's head when she was acting like a Faith clone, which was something I had always had trouble believing of her when I watched "Bad Girls". Her mentality during that episode makes much more sense now.


	27. Waffles

"You mean…," began Buffy slowly, "he can—"

"Experience perfect happiness without losing his soul?" said Wesley. "Yes."

Her eyes grew very round as his meaning fully sank in. The next second, she had released Angel's hand and launched herself at him in an almost bone-breaking tackle-hug that sent him staggering backward. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she said.

While Wesley tried to figure out how to react to this in a dignified fashion, Angel was still reeling from the impact of what he had said. He had spent a good portion of his recent waking hours brooding about the fact that it would be incredibly dangerous to continue doing what he was doing with Buffy. As considerable as it was after a century of resisting his demon, his self-control was not infinite. It was impossible _not_ to be happy in Buffy's presence. She was his sunlight. She made the whole world fall away until it was just the two of them, and his past didn't matter. The threat of releasing Angelus was like an axe hanging over their heads every second they were together.

But not anymore. Thanks to Wesley, Angel's greatest fear had been banished. He no longer had to live every moment in terror that he would reach that forbidden joy without realizing it and unleash the monster within himself on an innocent and unsuspecting populous. He was free. "H-how can I ever repay you?" he asked, his throat tight with emotion.

"Preferably in a different manner than Miss Summers," Wesley gasped.

"Oh, oops! Sorry!" said Buffy, hastily releasing him from the hug.

"Ow," he wheezed, rubbing his ribs ruefully. His expression held an interesting combination of pain, bewilderment, and smugness. Neither Buffy nor Angel noticed this, because as soon as Buffy had finished reassuring herself that she hadn't done him any serious harm, she turned around and pulled Angel to her for a kiss. Smugness quickly came to dominate Wesley's features as he looked upon what he had wrought, though embarrassment and impatience soon replaced it when their embrace grew more and more heated rather than ending.

He cleared his throat, but, whether truly oblivious to their surroundings or merely pretending to be, they only held each other more tightly. "Yes, I'm sure celebration is in order, but can it please wait until after we've dealt with this Eliminati business?" he asked loudly. They broke apart and looked at him, Buffy blushing slightly.

"Sorry, Wes," said Angel, though the sincerity of his apology was slightly ruined by the fact that he was unable to suppress his grin. With a great effort, he forced himself to become serious. "Where's the amulet?"

"It's somewhere safe," said Wesley confidently.

Buffy glanced at the slight bulge in the right side of his jacket skeptically. "That doesn't qualify as safe."

"How did you know?" he asked, surprised.

"It pooches your jacket," she said.

"Walking around with that thing is like wearing a target," said Angel. He held out his hand and Wesley grudgingly passed him the amulet.

"Don't worry," said Buffy. "He'll put it somewhere safe that's actually safe."

"Yeah," he said, "I'll do it now."

"And I'll do some recon on Balthazar."

"If I may, Balthazar is dead," said Wesley. "Am I the only one who remembers that?"

"You might want to recheck your sources," said Angel. "Mine have told me that he's alive and well. Or, _alive_, anyway. Not so sure about _well_, which is why we can't let him get his hands on this." He held up the amulet before tucking it into his own jacket.

"Are you sure?" asked Wesley, alarmed. Angel nodded. "Good Lord!" He turned to Buffy. "You can't be thinking of hunting him down alone, can you?"

"Wasn't planning on it," said Buffy, gesturing towards Faith, who was still on the dance floor. Angel bent down to kiss her goodbye, inclined his head at Wesley, and departed.

"Ah, yes, very good," said Wesley. "You'll let me know if you find anything?"

"Yep," she said. She turned to go pull Faith from the crowd, but stopped and put a hand on Wesley's arm. "Thanks again. Really." She gave him another hug, and, to his great relief, was careful to do so much more gently this time.

"You're welcome," he said.

[o]

Buffy and Faith managed to locate the warehouse Angel had mentioned without too much difficulty. Through a grimy window, they could see quite a few vampires and one grotesquely obese demon—Balthazar, no doubt. Buffy shuddered to think what he'd be like if his strength was ever restored.

"Okay, we've got ten, maybe twelve bad guys and one big demon in desperate need of a Stairmaster," she assessed.

"I say we take 'em all," said Faith with a grin, her hands already balled into fists in anticipation of the battle, "hard and fast and _now_."

"We need a little more firepower than none," said Buffy repressively. "We should head back to the library."

"Well, I guess Jacuzzi Boy isn't going anywhere," said Faith reluctantly. She glanced around vaguely. "I just...wish we had...." She spotted a sporting goods shop across the street and pointed it out to Buffy. "Ah, that is too good." She began to stride purposefully towards it.

"Faith, what are you doing?" Buffy hissed.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" asked Faith. "Stocking up on firepower."

"You can't just break into a store! We can get weapons from the library. And backup, if Angel's done hiding the amulet. In fact, a carefully laid plan to be executed tomorrow night when we're less tired from slaying all day and can definitely have Angel and weapons we legally own would be even better."

"You're just gonna do this the Watcher's way? That loser doesn't know a thing about slaying," Faith scoffed. "He can't tell us what to do."

"Yeah, well, I owe him," said Buffy with blunt finality. Very grudgingly, Faith left the sporting goods shop alone and went with Buffy. They did a couple of sweeps of the nearest cemeteries before calling it a night.

[o]

The next morning, as she and her mom made waffles together, Buffy decided that it was as good a time as any to tell her about Angel. She took a deep breath. "Mom?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"There's something I've got to tell you that you're probably not going to like, and just…please don't get angry or interrupt, okay?"

"Oh, God, you're not pregnant, are you?" she asked, dropping the ladle full of waffle batter back into the bowl.

"What?!" said Buffy, mortified. "No!"

"Sorry. Number one mom fear," she said, wincing apologetically. She picked up the ladle again and poured the batter into the waffle iron. "What is it?"

"You remember Angel, right?" Buffy asked tentatively.

Joyce's face darkened and she closed the iron over the batter with a snap. "I wouldn't forget him in a hurry, even if he wasn't a vampire," she said. "Isn't he gone, though?" She now looked both hopeful and apprehensive.

Buffy's heart sank. This was exactly the reaction she had feared. "Okay, this is the part where you can't interrupt. He was gone for a few months, but he's back now." Joyce opened her mouth, looking alarmed and upset, but Buffy went on quickly and slightly louder than before. "But he's good! Willow restored his soul, and Wesley—my new Watcher—made sure he wouldn't be able to lose it again. He blames himself for everything that happened last spring even though he couldn't have done anything to stop it. He's only been back for a couple of weeks, but if he hadn't come back, I'd probably be dead and the world could have ended. He's one hundred percent fighting for the good guys now."

Joyce simply stared at her, at a complete loss for words.

"I think that batch is done," said Buffy eventually, when the light on the waffle iron went off. Joyce opened the iron to reveal four deliciously golden-brown waffles for which neither of them was sure they had the appetite anymore, eased them out onto a plate, poured more batter in, and closed it again.

"So, um, if he has his soul, does that mean you two are dating again?" she asked.

Buffy couldn't tell whether or not it was a good thing that the cheerfulness in her voice was obviously forced. Either she was trying to make the best of it, or she was attempting to mask the fact that she was angry beyond words. "Yes."

"Oh."

Another awkward silence, though not as long as the first. "I was hoping that you'd be okay if I invited him over for dinner? It doesn't have to be tonight. Whenever you want."

To Buffy's surprise, Joyce smiled and then began to laugh. It went on for so long that the next batch of waffles was done by the time she had recovered. "Oh, wow," she said slightly hysterically, "I must be the only mom who's ever been in this situation. My daughter goes out every night to fight demons and save the world, and now I get to cook dinner for her vampire boyfriend." She dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her apron. "Anything special you want me to make?"

"I'm sure he'll love anything," said Buffy, smiling. In reality, it wouldn't matter what she made, because Angel wouldn't really be able to taste it anyway, but she wasn't going to tell her that.

Joyce's misgivings made one more attempt to take control. "Honey, a-are you sure you can't just date someone from school? What about that nice boy, Scott?"

"Mom," said Buffy, breaking the word into several syllables and rolling her eyes. "Scott dumped me, remember? And I'd be putting his or any other nice boy from school's life in danger by letting him get that close to me. With Angel, I don't have to worry about that. He can fight just as well as I can, and he's even better help in a fight than Faith, since he doesn't have problems with his attention span being missing or scary, reckless overconfidence when we're way outnumbered—" She broke off her rambling to deliver the real point-scorer. "No other guy can protect me as well as Angel does. When he's around, I know I'm safe."

"I just don't want you to get hurt again."

"I know, Mom." They smiled at each other and hugged tightly. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetie."

Buffy didn't know what it was, but she was sure she'd never had better-tasting waffles in her life.

* * *

Wesley finally gets his well-deserved hugs! Yay! Though he did get a bit of an overdose. Heh. Anyway, now that Wesley is officially one of Buffy's favorite people ever, she's obviously done rebelling against him. Hence not breaking into the sporting goods store with Faith as she did in canon. Also, as a result of not having broken into the sporting goods store, she isn't too anxious the next morning to reject her mom's suggestion of making waffles, which then provided the perfect opening for her to bring up the Angel subject. Alternate scenarios are fascinating. Oh, and I would just like to say (because I've forgotten to do so in the past five or six author's notes) that I usually hate it when Angel's curse gets de-loopholed, because to me that's just a cheap way for disgruntled Buffy/Angel shippers to get what they want. I'm more okay with it if it isn't done for the sole purpose of enabling him and Buffy to live happily ever after, if it's difficult to do, and (preferably) if it's done by the Kalderash themselves. Hence Wesley having to travel all the way to Romania where he had to argue with Gypsies to change the curse so that Angelus could never be free. He had no idea that he would be removing the biggest obstacle in Angel's relationship with Buffy; as far as he was concerned, he was sparing Angel from the fear of his demon and saving the world from the possibility Angelus returning again.


	28. The Vampire's Watcher

Okay, several things can account for the lateness of this update. I had Writer's Block, I got a job, I learned how to play the guitar for Rock Band on hard after three years of being stuck on medium, and I was working on a very time-consuming piece of fanart that I started in February and have had Artist's Block for ever since. It's a picture of Darla, Angelus, Drusilla, and Spike, and if you want to see it, I posted it on my deviantart page, which you can get to via the homepage link on my profile. Now then, the new chapter:

* * *

"He did that? Really?" asked Willow, amazed. She and Buffy were sitting cross-legged opposite each other on the latter's bed, and it was about half an hour before nightfall.

"Yeah," said Buffy, beaming brightly—something she had done every time she thought or spoke about her new Watcher since the previous night at the Bronze.

"Wow," said Willow. "H-how did he do it? I mean, I thought there was just the one curse." She looked troubled. "If I'd known there was a way to rewrite it so that it would be permanent, I would have done it."

"I don't think you could have done it, Wil," said Buffy, shaking her head. When Willow looked slightly hurt at these words, she elaborated quickly, "Not that I'm discounting your spell-casting abilities. If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have him back at all. It would have been Angelus at that boarding house when those Council guys dumped me there without my strength if you hadn't cursed him again. That would've been all kinds of badness." She frowned. "Or maybe he wouldn't have ever come back from Hell in the first place, since Angelus pretty much deserves to be there—but then one of the vamps Angel fought in the tournament would have been the one in the boarding house instead...."

Willow looked more alarmed at the thought of these alternatives than comforted by the assurance that her spell had indeed been an integral piece of the puzzle, and Buffy shook herself mentally, realizing that she had gotten sidetracked. "But anyway, Wesley said he went all the way to Romania. He had to convince the descendants of the people who cursed Angel the first time to make it permanent. I don't know if anyone but them could have done it, and when was any of us going to have time to go halfway around the world to argue with a bunch of gypsies?"

"But why did he do it?" asked Willow, confused. "There can't be many other Watchers who'd be willing to go to all that trouble for a vampire, even if he did have a soul."

Buffy smiled again. "Yeah, but Wesley's the Watcher who was in charge of Angel while he was in the Council's dungeon. He gave him extra blood and figured out about his soul. He took care of him. He didn't have to, but he did, except that it looks like he didn't think that was enough, so he went to Romania."

"Wow," said Willow again. She paused, looking thoughtful. "That makes him kinda like Angel's Watcher, huh?"

"I guess it does," said Buffy.

"So this is a pretty big relief, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, now you don't have to worry about hiding anything from him, since he's on Angel's side too."

"Oh, yeah. It _is_ really nice."

Willow smiled. "Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, remembering what she had brought with her. "I have something for you, for patrol."

"Ooh," said Buffy keenly. She watched as Willow twisted awkwardly across the end of the bed to reach her bag, from which she withdrew two small purple pouches. Sitting up again and handing one to Buffy, she then explained that it was a protection spell. A minty-fresh protection spell, more specifically, which she pointed out with no small amount of pride. She was so excited about it that Buffy felt an unpleasant pang of guilt when she told Willow that she shouldn't patrol with her. It wasn't that she was trying to shut Willow out, really, but she'd seen how many vampire cronies Balthazar still had, and she wasn't going to risk her best friend's life just to make her feel more included. Faith turned up right when Buffy was trying to ease gently through this explanation, which completely disrupted the concerned and caring tone she had been so close to setting, and she had little choice but to depart with her fellow Slayer, leaving Willow alone in her room, looking thoroughly abandoned.

[o]

To Buffy's bemusement, Faith had somehow procured a cumbersome compound longbow for patrol, to which she was inexpertly nocking an arrow as they crept through a back alley. "Where did you get that?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"That store," said Faith with a dismissive shrug.

"Did you get a receipt too?"

Faith scowled at her. "What's your problem tonight, B? I thought you got it. The life of a Slayer is very simple. It's want, take, have for you and me, baby. This is payment for the vamps we dust."

"Slaying isn't something we do for a reward, Faith. We kill demons because it's the right thing to do, and we're the only ones who can. Our _payment_ is that the world stays safe for the people we care about."

Faith's scowl became more pronounced. Maybe that was good enough for Buffy, but she didn't have a tightly-knit group of friends or a Watcher who stuck with her even after he was fired or a mom who cared about her or a guy who had literally gone to Hell and back for her. Faith was on the outskirts, looking in at what she didn't have. Part of her ached to reach out and touch it, to be like Buffy so that some part of that friendship and love could be hers too—but that life didn't fit her. No life that came with rules and order and structure fit her, and how dare Buffy chastise her for doing things her way when it was her fault that it was the only way left to her? She was free, and she was having fun, and she _had_ earned it.

She still hadn't thought of a good verbal retort, however, when one of Balthazar's vamp minions jumped down from the building next to them and landed in their path.

[o]

As he double-checked his books at the library, Wesley wished that he had thought to ask Angel and Buffy if Mr. Giles could be trusted. Prior to getting everything sorted out with Buffy at the Bronze, she and Mr. Giles had been united in their unwillingness to accommodate him, and they were undoubtedly very close, but that didn't necessarily mean that she had confided in the older Watcher about her relationship with Angel. Mr. Giles's reports to the Council had never betrayed the slightest hint of his knowing anything about it—though, Wesley supposed, that could be because he _did_ know about it and was protecting them from the Council, just as he himself was doing, but he had no way of knowing for sure. He thought Mr. Giles's persistent wariness of him was probably a good sign, but he felt it would be prudent to test the waters more thoroughly.

"I had it from Mr. Travers that Buffy recently completed her Cruciamentum," he said, breaking the silence that had settled between them for well over an hour. Mr. Giles's hands clenched around the book he was reading, but they unclenched again so quickly that Wesley probably wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been watching him so closely for a reaction.

"Yes," Mr. Giles replied stiffly. "And, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, as you very well know, that would be why you are here. Is it entirely necessary to rub it in?"

Wesley reddened slightly. He hadn't brought it up for that reason at all, and felt mortified at his own lack of tact. "I'm sorry," he said. "I only meant—well, I attended the tournament last autumn, and, frankly, I was quite astonished to hear that anyone, let alone a disabled Slayer, had managed to defeat Angelus." The words were easy to say. After all, it _was_ hard to imagine Angel being bested in a fight after watching him take down Sophia and Erebus.

Mr. Giles had gone rather pale, and his face was very tight as he regarded Wesley, but he didn't speak, so Wesley opened his mouth again cautiously. "What's more, it is my understanding that it was not the first time Buffy faced him."

"No," said Mr. Giles.

"Your report wasn't very detailed on that point," said Wesley, inwardly pleased at the convincing note of suspicious curiosity in his voice.

"And you hoped to get a bonus from Travers by filling in the blanks, did you?" said Mr. Giles with undisguised scorn.

"Certainly not," said Wesley, a little more harshly than he had intended. He thoroughly disliked having to play the part of the Council's stooge and sincerely hoped that he would not have to do so for much longer. "I merely wished to gain a better understanding of my charge, though I already know that she must be exceptional, if you would jeopardize your job for her."

Mr. Giles's hands had once again balled into fists, though he didn't seem to be aware of it. "Exceptional?" he repeated. The word came out somewhere between a derisive laugh and a growl. "If you had seen what that girl has gone through for the past couple of years, you would know how woefully inadequate that term is. For her, I would sacrifice my job and more a hundred times over. Quentin Travers is very fortunate indeed that circumstances of which he was not aware prevented him from carrying out that barbaric test the way he intended."

"What circumstances?" asked Wesley quickly. "That Angelus has a soul?"

Mr. Giles's expression darkened instantly. "What do you know about that?" His gaze intensified as he registered the verb tense Wesley had used. "And how do you know he's alive?"

"I've seen him," said Wesley, starting to smile. "I know everything." Before he saw it coming, Mr. Giles had pinned him to the wall of his office, his forearm pressed hard against his throat.

"How did you find out? Did Travers send you for this? Does he know?" he demanded, his livid face inches from Wesley's.

"What? No! Travers still thinks Angel's dead!" Wesley gasped, shocked by how menacing the other man had become. Mr. Giles eased the pressure on Wesley's windpipe slightly, his eyes narrowed.

"You called him 'Angel'," he observed.

"He's my friend," said Wesley. Mr. Giles glared at him for a few more seconds, before releasing him and stepping back. Wesley coughed and rubbed his throat. "I take it, then, that you're aware of his and Buffy's relationship?" Mr. Giles nodded, his expression still mistrustful and threatening. "I can assure you," he said, coughing again, "that I haven't the slightest intention of informing Mr. Travers of any of this. Angel earned my trust several months ago, and I will not betray it. You, in turn, will not betray Buffy. I believe, Mr. Giles, that makes us allies." He stuck out his hand.

Giles looked at it for a moment, then shook it.

"Now then," said Wesley rather jauntily, "with that settled, I believe we can make much more headway with this Eliminati problem."

"Yes," said Giles, his eyes fixed on a point behind Wesley, the color draining from his face again. "I imagine we will." Wesley spun around to see four Eliminati just outside the office in which they stood.

* * *

Huh. I thought I'd be finished with the alternate "Bad Girls" by the end of this chapter, but I guess the conversations between Buffy and Willow, Buffy and Faith, and Wesley and Giles were meatier than I had anticipated. Oh well. The Buffy/Willow one was mostly just to help me get back into the swing of this story, but the Wesley/Giles one was my favorite.


	29. Captain Courageous

The vampire went for Buffy, who sidestepped him and shoved him into a truck parked in the alley. He tried to kick her, but she blocked it and returned with a more powerful kick of her own, which knocked him flat on the ground. She dove at him, stake raised and ready, but he held her off and they struggled violently.

This had all happened very fast, and Faith hadn't gotten more than a couple of steps towards helping Buffy when they were joined by a second vampire. The newcomer bore down on her as she struggled to draw the bow in the limited space, but it was no good. "Screw it!" she growled to herself, dropping the bow and raising the arrow to use as a stake.

The two Slayers managed to dispatch their opponents within a couple of seconds of each other, but it wasn't over yet. They had barely started moving again when a third Eliminatus appeared. Even with his sword, however, he was no match for two Slayers, and he had soon joined his fellows as dust. But now Buffy and Faith were really on edge. Every shadow might conceal another enemy; every sound might herald an approaching foe. When a hand suddenly reached out of nowhere and grabbed Buffy by the shoulder, therefore, Faith reacted instinctively. As she threw the owner of the hand against the dumpster and he crumpled to the ground, Buffy realized with a jolt of recognition that it was only Allan Finch, the deputy mayor—the _human_ deputy mayor.

"Faith, no!" she shouted, but her cry came too late. Faith had already plunged her stake into the man's chest—into his heart. Buffy rushed to his side, her own heart pounding frantically. Faith stepped back, wide-eyed.

"Don't move!" Buffy told him, her voice coming out slightly squeaky with hysteria. He couldn't die. He wouldn't. He wasn't a demon. They only killed demons.

"I didn't—I didn't know," Faith stammered in protest, both mind and body frozen with shock. "I didn't know."

"We need to call nine-one-one," said Buffy urgently. "Now!" But Faith didn't move. She couldn't. This couldn't be real. Blood was pouring thick and fast from the wound in Allan's chest, staining his crisp white shirt crimson. The color was rapidly leaving his terrified face, and he was shaking. "Don't move," Buffy told him again, "i-it's okay." She pressed her hands to the wound, but the blood kept coming. "I-I need—I need something to stop the…." Her voice trailed away when Allan began to convulse, his eyes widening in fear and blood trickling from his mouth. There was nothing Buffy could do but watch, horror and panic drowning out any coherent thought, as Allan lifted his arm, trying to reach out to her. He never make it. His arm dropped limply to his side and his body wilted and was still. Something dimmed behind his eyes, which remained wide open.

[o]

The silence was as absolute as death, and seemed to last an eternity. Buffy couldn't move; couldn't think—she could only look into the empty eyes of the dead man before her.

Eventually, the terrible trance was shattered by a noise in the distance, and Faith jerked back to alertness. "We've gotta go," she said, grabbing Buffy's shoulder. Buffy barely felt her hand. She was still trying to understand what had happened. "Come on! We've gotta go!" Faith said, much more loudly this time, tugging Buffy's arm so hard that she had no choice but to follow.

They ran. When they reached the corner, Buffy made to look back, but Faith grabbed her again. "Come _on_!" she said, forcing her back around, but she didn't wait for her to follow this time, and ran ahead and hopped a stack of crates and over a low wall. Buffy looked around and saw a chain-link fence, which she vaulted over and kept running. Finally, when several streets were between her and Allan's body, she slowed to a walk, but she had no sooner done so than a figure emerged from the shadows to her left.

"Angel!" she said, startled.

"Buffy," he replied, looking preoccupied, tense, and angry. "I've been looking for you." He couldn't say anything else before she had launched herself, trembling, into his arms. "What's wrong?" he asked, automatically pulling her close and momentarily forgetting his reason for seeking her, but she shook her head against his chest and didn't reply.

Angel suddenly became aware that he could smell blood, and he gently pulled her loose and turned her wrists so that he could see her palms, which both gleamed with the source of the smell. He let go of her hands and looked up at her face, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. Something was very wrong. But hopefully not so wrong that it couldn't be dealt with later—and, in any case, she looked like she needed something to distract her. He only wished it was something less upsetting. "I've just been to the warehouse," he said, his hands clenching into fists. "I was waiting for you. They got Wes and Giles, but there are too many of them for me to take out alone."

Buffy looked up at him, alarmed. "Let's go," she said.

[o]

Wesley was quite certain that he'd never seen anything as repugnant in his entire life as the demon in front of him. If he ever met the man who wrote the book stating that Balthazar was dead, he was going to beat him over the head with it. Repeatedly. Assuming, of course, that he even made it out of this alive, and the chances of that didn't look particularly good from where he was standing. He and Mr. Giles were surrounded by vampires, their hands were bound rather painfully tightly with ropes, and, he suspected, the only reason they weren't already dead was that Balthazar knew they knew where his amulet was.

As he watched one of the vampires pour water over Balthazar's many folds of blubbery flesh, Wesley didn't know whether he was going to faint or vomit first, but both seemed inevitable. Astonishingly, Mr. Giles, though also revolted, seemed rather bored by the proceedings. Was this what the daily life of a Watcher in the field was like, then? Why on Earth had he ever signed up for this?

"Oh, God!" he said, so tensed up that he thought he'd probably remain upright if he actually did faint. "Oh, God!"

"Doesn't seem too promising, does it?" said Mr. Giles.

"Stay calm, Mr. Giles," he said, though he himself was already the farthest from calm that he could get. "We have to stay calm."

"Well, thank God you're here," said Mr. Giles sarcastically, "I was beginning to panic."

Wesley glared reproachfully at him. Was he this irritable with everyone, or was it just special treatment he reserved for him? But then again, he supposed, he _had_ taken the man's job. Perhaps that did merit irritability even though they were on the same side.

"Bring them closer," said Balthazar, jolting Wesley out of his mental segue and back into the very unpleasant here and now. The two vampires holding them shoved them forward until they were mere feet away from the tank in which Balthazar sat.

"You know what I want," he said.

"If it's for me to scrub those hard-to-reach areas," said Mr. Giles, "I'd like to request you kill me now." The vampire behind him growled at his insolence and dealt a powerful blow to his shoulder, making him stumble. "_Ow_," he said.

"Are you out of your mind?" asked Wesley, his voice slightly higher than usual. "This is hardly the time for games!"

"Why not?" asked Mr. Giles, still, incredibly, sounding bored. "They're going to torture us to death anyway."

"You're not wrong about that," Balthazar snickered happily.

Mustering every ounce of courage he possessed, though he was still paralyzed by fear, Wesley jutted out his chin and glared at the morbidly obese demon. "You and your minions are no match for our friends. They won't be terribly happy with you if we're killed."

"Would these be the friends who have my amulet?" asked Balthazar shrewdly. Giles groaned.

"You'll never get it back if you kill us," said Wesley, his voice climbing still higher in spite of his efforts to sound forceful and intimidating.

"I suppose that's true," said Balthazar, but the relief Wesley felt from these words was short-lived. "Pull off his kneecaps!"

"NO!" cried Wesley, his brave front completely evaporating as two vampires closed in on him.

"Then tell me who has my amulet!" said Balthazar, flailing his flabby arms in agitation.

"You don't stand a chance against him!" said Wesley.

"Be quiet, you twerp!" hissed Mr. Giles. "You think threats will stop them from killing us? The second they find out what they want to know, we're dead!"

"You will tell us everything!" roared Balthazar. Wesley looked at him apprehensively. "What is this friend's name?"

Wesley remained defiantly silent, though he felt his knees quaking beneath him.

"Look, erm," said Mr. Giles, "tell you what. Let Captain Courageous here go, and I'll tell you what you need to know. How's that deal?"

"THERE IS ONE DEAL! YOU WILL DIE QUICKLY, OR YOU WILL DIE SLOWLY! THE MAN WHO HAS MY AMULET! WHAT IS HIS NAME?"

"His name is Angel."

Wesley actually smiled at the sound of the familiar voice, and turned to see Angel striding into the midst of their captors, his demonic features contorted in fury. He seized the vampires holding Wesley and Mr. Giles and sent one hurtling into the wall and the other into a set of metal shelves.

It was only then, as he watched Angel fight, that it occurred to Wesley that the ensouled vampire might not have been giving one hundred percent when he fought in the tournament. Then, he had only been fighting to protect himself—and the audience, in the case of his fight against Erebus—, but now he was fighting because the man who had done so much for him had been threatened. The result was that he had become a juggernaut against which the Eliminati had no hope of prevailing.

Wesley was so transfixed by Angel's battle that he was only barely aware of the fact that Buffy had joined the fray, that Balthazar had completely given himself over to a tantrum, or that Mr. Giles, whose bonds had been cut by Buffy, had untied the ropes binding his hands. It was only when Balthazar, by then one of very few enemies in the warehouse who hadn't fled or been killed, raised his hands and telekinetically pulled Angel towards him, that Wesley did more than stare. "Angel!" he shouted, running towards the enormous demon without the slightest idea of how he was supposed to fight him.

Fortunately, he didn't have to. His shout had alerted Buffy to the danger, and she yanked the chords supporting the buzzing light fixture, sending it crashing into Balthazar's tank. As electricity surged through the demon's bloated body, Angel was able to break free of his grip. He, Wesley, Buffy, and Giles all watched as electric sparks danced across Balthazar's skin, which smoked and turned red.

Buffy ran to Angel to make sure he was okay, and they hugged tightly.

"Well, I must say," said Wesley in an admirable attempt at his usual pompous manner, "that was quite an advent—" But the end of his sentence was cut off by Balthazar jerking back to life, and the young Englishman jumped so violently that he almost fell over.

"Slayer!" wheezed Balthazar. "You think you've won. When he rises, you'll wish I'd killed you all." On that ominous note, he died, and the Watchers, vampire, and Slayer all exchanged uneasy glances.

* * *

Okay, I realize that this one was yet another chapter with very little deviation from canon, but there was really no way I could cut Allan's death scene. Besides, it was a very intriguing scene to go at from within the characters' minds. And then we've got Buffy reacting a little more emotionally when she runs into Angel than in canon, which I think makes sense given how he still hasn't been back for very long and she's not going to pass up an opportunity to be comforted by him even if he doesn't exactly seem prepared to offer comfort at the moment. Also, I hope it was clear that Angel wasn't angry at her; he was angry at the vamps who had taken Wesley and frustrated that he probably couldn't handle them all by himself. Okay, at this point, I think they're more like brothers than friends, which is just awesome. And Wesley! Gah. Once again, he was ridiculously fun to write. I think I'm actually having more fun writing him than Buffy and Angel. Odd. Aaand...I think I'm done now.


	30. Against All Odds

Okay. This disclaimer is long overdue. This story is rated T _for violence only_. I do not write smut. I will not write smut. That is all.

* * *

Buffy felt numb as she walked out of Faith's hotel room, the end of their conversation ringing in her ears.

_"Faith, you don't get it. You _killed _a man."_

_"No, _you _don't get it. I don't _care_."_

They couldn't possibly be true, but the dark-haired Slayer's words still filled Buffy with horror. Angel had spent a hundred years trying to deal with what he had done, and it still ate at him even though he wasn't really the one behind any of those things. Giles still showed signs of anguish and remorse when he was reminded of the man who died because of his and his friends' foolishness years ago. Buffy felt like her insides were frozen every time she remembered Allan's blank, staring eyes. She may not have dealt the fatal blow, but she had watched him die, and part of her felt responsible. So how could Faith be so cavalier about it all when she was the one who'd actually done it? And how could she think of pretending like it never happened? How could she expect Buffy to keep it all a secret? The mere thought of concealing something this terrible; of letting it fester within her, was unbearable.

Buffy let it all whirl inside her like an ice storm of despair, unaware of where her feet were carrying her until they had brought her all the way to their destination. Realizing that she now stood before the door to Angel's apartment, she jumped slightly and tried to remember when she decided to go there, but she came up blank. Still, if anyone would understand, Angel would, and she could not and _would_ _not_ hide this from him. She reached up a hand to knock, but before her knuckles made contact with the wood, she noticed that she could hear voices from within the apartment, and faltered.

[o]

"You're sure about this?" asked Angel.

"Yes," said Wesley. "I know I've no chance of getting to your level, but if anything like what happened last night happens again, I need to be able to handle myself better, as the training I've had doesn't seem to have been much help. I could barely keep my head, let alone defend myself." He frowned. "I would ask Mr. Giles, since, as a Watcher himself, he's a better example of what I hope to be able to do, but the evidence so far suggests that he quite detests me, so I'll not bother him more than I have to." He fell silent, looking glum and suddenly feeling rather homesick. He was, after all, over five thousand miles away from England, and the only other person who also hailed from there saw him as an incompetent twerp. No, he definitely wasn't going to bother Rupert Giles more than he had to.

"I'd be glad to teach you how to fight," said Angel.

"Really?" asked Wesley, standing up straighter and brightening considerably.

"It's the least I can do, after everything you've done for me," said Angel sincerely. Then he smirked and added, "Besides, I might not be there to get you out of trouble next time."

Wesley scowled slightly, but was still very happy that Angel had agreed. "Thank you." He looked down at his watch. "Well, I'd better be off. I'll call you about training soon."

Angel nodded, and Wesley walked to the door, but upon opening it, he almost collided with Buffy, who was standing just on the other side, looking as if she'd been there for several minutes while she tried to decide whether or not to come in.

"Buffy!" said Wesley in surprise. She had jumped back in alarm when the door opened, and now looked like she wanted nothing more than to be very far away. Within the apartment, Angel looked around. "What are you doing here?" Wesley asked, still staring at her.

"I, um," she said uncomfortably, "I need to see Angel."

"Oh," said Wesley. "Well, then, by all means," he waved an arm towards the interior of the apartment, "don't let me stop you. I was just leaving, anyway. I suppose I'll see you at the school library tomorrow."

Buffy nodded and gave him a weak, forced smile as she stepped aside so that he could pass, then remained where she was, twisting her hands together and staring at the floor. Angel approached her slowly, his expression full of concern. He had a strong suspicion that he was about to discover the reason behind the blood on her hands the night before.

"Hey," he said softly. Her eyes darted upward, but stopped before they reached his face, then looked down at her fidgeting fingers. He reached out and closed a hand around one of hers, pulled it gently towards him, and lifted his other hand to tilt her face up until she finally met his gaze. "Tell me what happened." Her lip trembled slightly and her eyes sparkled with moisture, but she swallowed hard and nodded.

Angel led her inside and closed the door. When he turned around, he saw that she had already moved over to the couch and curled up on it, hugging her knees and looking so small and vulnerable that he felt his heart twist painfully. He quickly pulled the chair from his desk in front of the couch and sat down, wishing that he had tea or hot chocolate to offer her. "What happened?" he prompted quietly.

"Last night, before we fought Balthazar," she began after a few seconds, sounding slightly hoarse. She stopped and closed her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was a little stronger. "Faith and I were heading towards the warehouse. We kept getting jumped by vamps, and then this guy—the deputy mayor—he showed up. We thought he was another vampire at first, and I didn't recognize him until it was too late, and—," she broke off, her eyes wide, tears threatening to spill from them, "—Faith staked him. There was nothing I could do. His heart, it—he died right there in front of me."

"Are you okay?" asked Angel.

"I don't know."

"This isn't your fault, Buffy," he said, taking both of her hands in his. "It sounds like it was an accident."

"Yeah," she said. "It's just, I talked to Faith about it, and she said she doesn't care. She got rid of the body, she's acting like nothing's wrong, and she got annoyed when I brought it up. I mean, before I knew Ted was a robot, and I thought I'd killed him, I'd never felt worse in my whole life, even though it was an accident and he hit me first."

"It only happened last night," said Angel. "People handle things differently. She could be in shock or denial. Those won't last, and she's going to need help once they're over."

"Okay," said Buffy. "I'll do whatever I can, but until then? She's not stable, Angel, and she thinks the rules don't apply to her."

"If you're worried, I can keep an eye on her."

"Good," said Buffy, nodding. Her eyes unfocused and silence fell over them for a while, until Angel broke it.

"You said this happened in an alley?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"Yeah," said Buffy, looking at him again and frowning. "Why?"

"What was the deputy mayor doing in an alley that late at night, in the exact place where two Slayers happened to be?"

"He was looking for us," Buffy realized, her eyes widening slightly. She'd been so focused on his death and what had followed that it hadn't occurred to her to wonder what he'd been doing there, but now it seemed obvious. "Why would he be looking for us? It's not like Slayers get funding or recognition from the city."

"Maybe we should try to find out more about this guy," said Angel.

Buffy suddenly choked on a sob that had come out of nowhere, then buried her face in her hands. A second later, Angel had moved from his chair to the couch next to her and pulled her into his arms. "I keep seeing his face," she said in a small, strangled voice. "Oh, God, what if he had a family? What if he had kids? And Faith got rid of the body, so they won't even know what happened to him. They won't know why he didn't come home. They don't deserve that. He didn't deserve to die. He was just _there_. He didn't deserve to die."

"People don't always get what they deserve. Life can be cruel and random. Sometimes more than we can stand. Sometimes innocent people get hurt, and sometimes guilty people get rewards that should never have been theirs." A shadow crossed his face. "Sometimes they come back from Hell when they should have stayed there forever."

Buffy looked at him sharply. "Don't _ever_ say that," she said fiercely. There was nothing small or strangled about her voice now.

It took a considerable amount of effort on his part to refrain from replying, "But it's the truth." He might as well have said it, however, for Buffy had clearly guessed that it was on his mind.

When she spoke again, the words came out quiet and passionate, but were somehow more thunderous than they would have been if she had shouted them. "Don't you think I'd have found it a little harder to fall in love with you if Hell was really what you deserved? Don't you think Wesley wouldn't have become your friend, or that he wouldn't have wanted to take the time to go all the way to Romania to make sure Angelus could never come back if there was no difference between you and him?" She ran her fingers tenderly across his face. "You think you're a monster, Angel, but you're not. You're a good man, and you belong here. With me." The last sentence came out in a whisper—almost a plea.

Angel looked into her eyes. The part of him that wanted to contradict her—the part that contained two centuries' worth of guilt and self-loathing—felt weaker than it had ever been before. Buffy and Wesley were probably the two people least likely to see him the way they did. One a Slayer called to kill his kind, the other a Watcher heavily indoctrinated for his whole life to think only the worst of him. But against those odds, they saw him as a good man, and for the first time, he was starting to believe them. It was both wonderful and terrifying, and Angel couldn't speak. His throat was painfully tight, and his vision had blurred from the moisture in his eyes.

Buffy pressed herself more closely to him. "You deserve to be happy," she said, her breath tickling the side of his face.

The already weakened barrier in his mind snapped, and then his lips were on hers.

* * *

Yes. Yes, they did.


	31. A Very Late Breakfast

Angel looked down at the girl sleeping so peacefully in his arms and smiled, feeling remarkably peaceful himself, warm enough from her body heat that he almost felt alive, and his heart so full that he was amazed it hadn't burst. It had been at about that point last time that he had begun to feel the agony of his soul being ripped from his body, but no such pain came to take him away from her now. The Kalderash had obviously known what they were doing when they rewrote the curse to ensure that his soul stayed where it was. He was going to have to thank them one day, even though they'd only done it out of vengeance.

He pressed a tender kiss to her temple, and, moving carefully so as not to wake her, got out of bed, pulled on boxers and pants, and walked over to the refrigerator.

[o]

Buffy awoke slowly, feeling warm and content—until she felt around beside her and realized that she was alone. All lingering traces of drowsiness evaporating on the spot, she sat bolt upright, clutching the sheet to her chest, icy terror clenching around her heart as the sense of déjà vu barreled into her.

"Angel?" she called, trying and failing to prepare herself for not receiving an answer.

"Buffy, you're awake," said Angel, stepping into view from the other side of his enormous, antique wardrobe, barefoot and shirtless, smiling with his eyes the way he did every time he saw her.

Buffy almost wept in relief. He was still there. He was still Angel. As the tension drained out of her, she noticed something that had escaped her attention so far. "Ooh, what's that smell?" she asked, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply.

"I, uh, made you breakfast," he said, running a hand through his hair and gesturing towards the small nook next to the wardrobe that passed for a kitchen.

"Breakfast?" Buffy repeated, giggling. "But it's," she squinted at the old analog clock sitting on his desk across the room, "seven in the evening."

"Well, if you want to wait until morning…," he said, smirking.

"As much as I do want to, I can't," she said reluctantly. "I should go home. We want my mom to like you, remember? I don't think it would be a very good start if I missed our traditional mother/daughter Sunday night movie marathon thing and she somehow found out that it was all your fault." She grinned mischievously at him. It was then that her stomach decided to give a loud and impatient growl. "So, breakfast?" she reminded him hopefully.

Angel laughed and vanished again around the wardrobe. Buffy looked down at the floor beside the bed. The only article of clothing within reach was his discarded shirt, which she promptly snatched up and donned while she listened to the soft clinks of glass and china coming from the direction Angel had gone.

Right after she'd finished doing up the last button, he reappeared with a tray containing a steaming ham and cheese omelet, two slices of buttered toast, a bowl of fresh, sliced strawberries, and a glass of orange juice. He placed the tray on the coffee table, feeling profoundly thankful that he'd recently stocked up on normal food just in case she ever got hungry when she was there. Buffy hopped out of bed and practically skipped the short distance to join him by the coffee table, where they sat on the floor next to each other.

"Mmm, maybe you should be the one to cook dinner when you come over," she said appreciatively after taking a few bites out of the omelet.

"It wouldn't be right," said Angel, shaking his head gravely. "We can't just cheat your mom out of the opportunity to poison me like that."

Buffy almost choked on her current bite of omelet at the explosion of giggles his words had caused. She could hardly believe it. Angel was being playful! Since when was Angel playful? She sincerely hoped it wouldn't be a one-time thing. "No worries," she said with a grin once she had succeeded in swallowing. "Mom's way too passive-aggressive to try something that direct."

Despite the earlier rumbling of her stomach, Buffy was surprised to find that she was ravenous, though it shouldn't have been that much of a shock. Given the events of the night before, she hadn't had much of an appetite for breakfast, and had been rather otherwise occupied by the time midday rolled around. In no time at all, she had completely devoured the breakfast he made for her.

"I could definitely get used to this," she said, stretching luxuriously and scooting over into his embrace.

"Me too," he said, and this time the smile spread across his entire face.

She smiled back and kissed him, then looked over at the clock again and pouted. "I have to go. Mom. Audrey Hepburn. Popcorn." He nodded, and they got up. Buffy quickly slipped her own clothes back on while Angel cleared up the breakfast tray.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "We'll see what we can find out about why the deputy mayor wanted to talk to you."

"And Angel?"

"What?"

"Don't tell anyone else about—about what happened to him. Not yet."

"Okay," he said. "Don't worry about it."

They shared one last long, unhurried kiss before Buffy departed.

[o]

That night, Buffy's sleep was plagued by nightmares about Faith and the man she had killed. She woke up in a cold sweat at least an hour before sunrise and fervently wished she was still at Angel's apartment. Well, she wasn't going to go back to sleep if there was a chance of having another fun dream about getting drowned, so she slid out from under the covers, put on her slippers, and made her way slowly downstairs, yawning hugely.

She had the vague idea of reheating a couple of leftover waffles in the toaster, but was distracted at the bottom stair by flashing colors coming from the living room, where she found her mom watching the early morning news. The subject of the report made her blood run cold. "Fishermen discovered the body today, the victim of a brutal stabbing. Authorities and citizens alike were shocked when the slain man was identified as Deputy Mayor Allan Finch."

She should have known. Faith wasn't exactly subtle. Of course someone was going to find the body. Buffy didn't know what to think. It had only been an accident; she didn't want Faith to have to go to prison for years because of it. But what would Faith do now? And what would she expect _her_ to do? What if they traced it back to Faith and it went to court? What if she, Buffy, was called as a witness? Which would be worse: selling out her friend or lying to the police about something as serious as this? She didn't want to find out.

The report continued as these thoughts were chasing each other around Buffy's head. "Still reeling from the news, Mayor Wilkins had this to say." The image switched to one of the mayor at a press conference.

"Mr. Finch was not only my longtime aide and associate, he was a close personal friend. I promise you I will not rest until whoever did this is found and brought to justice. Thank you very much."

At that point, Joyce noticed Buffy standing there in the doorway. "Oh, honey, you're up," she said. "Oh, it's just terrible, isn't it?"

Buffy said nothing. Yes, it _was_ terrible.

[o]

"I want you to look into this," said Wesley. It was lunchtime, and news of Allan Finch's death had obviously reached more ears than those of the press and Buffy's mother. "Find out everything you can about the murder of the deputy mayor."

"But that's—I-I mean, that's...," stammered Buffy, hating that she couldn't tell Wesley and Giles the truth because Faith was sitting just across the table from her. "That's not really our jurisdiction, is it?"

"It's no big, B," said Faith, and Buffy was alarmed to hear how calm she was—not to mention that her tone contained a slightly threatening undercurrent. "We'll get into it if he wants."

"No, Buffy's right," said Giles. "The deputy mayor's murder was the result of human malice. There's nothing supernatural about it."

"Perhaps," said Wesley, "but we don't know that for certain. I say it merits investigation."

"Which I'm sure the police are doing," said Giles, getting up and walking around the table. "In the meantime, if you ask me, there are better uses for the Slayers' time."

"Don't sweat it, Giles," said Faith, still looking directly at Buffy. "We'll do it. No problem."

A distraction arrived then in the form of Cordelia. "Don't let me interrupt," she said. "Wait, let me interrupt. I'm in a hurry." She raised her eyebrows significantly.

"What do you need?" asked Giles in a longsuffering voice.

Wesley turned to look at the newcomer, and his mouth fell open slightly. She was absolutely stunning. It was as if all of the air had been sucked from the room.

"Uh, psych class," said Cordelia. "Freud and Jung. Book me?"

"Happily," said Giles.

Cordelia turned and noticed Wesley for the first time. She smiled. "Check out Giles: The Next Generation," she said appreciatively. "What's your deal?"

"Er, I, er," Wesley stuttered. As freaked out and tense as Buffy was, she had to suppress an amused grin at this exchange. "Well—I'm a...." Wesley struggled to come up with a suitable cover story, but was still finding it rather difficult to form anything resembling a thought, let alone something suitably clever and interesting.

"New Watcher," Faith supplied, her own smirk very apparent.

"Oh," said Cordelia with interest.

Wesley shot a slightly bemused look at Buffy. "Does everybody know about you?" he asked.

"She's a friend," said Buffy.

"Let's not exaggerate," said Cordelia derisively. "So," she stepped closer to him. "You're the new Watcher."

Summoning as much poise as he could, Wesley held out his hand. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

"I like a man with two last names," said Cordelia flirtatiously. "I'm Cordelia."

"And you teach psychology," said Wesley, hoping to prolong his conversation with her but fearing that he was going to botch it grotesquely any second now.

"I _take_ psychology," Cordelia corrected him. Wesley looked at her in puzzlement.

"She's a student," Giles clarified as he walked past with the books she had requested.

Wesley dropped her hand as if he'd been burned and attempted to beat his unprofessional hormones into submission. "Oh, well. I, er…yes. In fact, I am—here to watch... girls." He went red. "Er—er, Buffy and Faith, to be specific."

"Well, it's about time we got some fresh blood around here," said Cordelia, who was still, most unhelpfully, flirting.

"Well. Fresh. Yes," said Wesley, going from mortified to smug in under a second.

"Here we go," said Giles, who had finished stamping Cordelia's books.

"Thanks," she said, accepting the proffered books. "So," she turned back to Wesley and flashed that brilliant smile again, "welcome to Sunnydale." With that, she departed, swinging her hips rather unnecessarily.

"My," said Wesley, trying to compose himself but forgetting not to smirk. "She is cheeky, isn't she?"

"Uh," said Faith. "First word: jail; second word: bait."

Wesley cleared his throat. "Well, er...where were we?"

"Done," said Buffy. "I mean, we are done, right?"

"Uh, yep," said Faith. "Detective time." They left, Buffy shooting an uncomfortable glance behind her at the two Watchers as she went.

* * *

Yay, morning--or, well, evening--after happies! And shirtless Angel returns! Also, I noticed that I had him run his hand through his hair after preparing a meal for her, just like he did in "Not Death, but Love". Oh well. I thought it was a cute way for him to be modest about how thoughtful he is. And then almost everything else in the chapter was lifted from canon. *discontented sigh* Still. I couldn't help but include the Wesley meets Cordy scene. Way too much fun to write his thoughts during that one to pass it up. *snicker* And there were a few lines changed to accommodate Wesley's improved standing with Buffy and his increased respect for Giles (even if Giles still doesn't like him much).


	32. Blackmail, with a Side of Elitism

Once she and Faith had left the library, Buffy nodded towards an empty classroom, and they walked in and closed the door.

"So, you gonna rat me out, is that it?" said Faith.

"Faith, we have to tell," said Buffy imploringly. "I can't pretend to investigate how he died. I can't pretend that I don't know."

"Okay, then maybe I can't pretend to our new Watcher that I don't know your undead honey isn't really dust."

Buffy blinked. "You're _blackmailing_ me?"

"If that's what it takes," said Faith, shrugging indifferently.

"Yeah, well, nice try," said Buffy through clenched teeth, "but it won't work. Wesley and Angel already know each other, and they're friends."

"Whatever. There're still plenty of other Watchers I can tell."

"How is that even balanced? I'm just talking about asking Giles and Wes for _help_, which, by the way, _doesn't_ involve turning you in, and you want to sell Angel out to people who will lock him up and maybe kill him? And possibly do the same to me?"

"Hey, he's a _vampire_. If I had my way, he'd be dead already, and it's not my fault you've got a thing for dead guys."

"Faith, I'm trying to _protect_ you," said Buffy angrily. She had to shove her hands into her pockets to save herself from the temptation to throttle her. "If we don't do the right thing, it's only gonna make things worse for you."

"Worse than jail for the rest of my young life?" Faith scoffed heatedly. "No way!"

"Faith, what we did was—"

"Yeah," Faith interrupted ominously. "_We_. You were right there beside me when this whole thing went down. Anything I have to answer for, you do too. You're a part of this, B. All the way."

"I can't believe you!" said Buffy. "I was there, yeah, but I tried to _stop_ you, and now you're threatening to drag Angel and me down with you? I thought you were my _friend_."

"So did I," said Faith contemptuously, before striding from the room, leaving Buffy in turmoil yet again.

How serious had she been about being willing to tell the other Watchers about Angel? Well, Buffy thought, she certainly couldn't let Faith find out that she'd told him about all of this, or he'd be in even more danger from her. And if his safety really was at stake, she couldn't risk talking to Giles or Wesley about what had happened yet, and she should probably warn Angel to stay off Faith's radar, just in case. Ugh! She hated this! Faith had her completely backed into a corner because of something _she_ had done!

Buffy left the classroom a few minutes later, her insides a knotted mass of anger and worry. Rounding a corner into the student lounge, she spotted Willow sitting alone on a couch, apparently absorbed in the book open across her lap. She walked toward her eagerly, thinking that her best friend was definitely someone in whom she could confide safely about this recent development.

Willow saw Buffy coming and quickly looked back at her book, shifting uncomfortably on her seat as she drew nearer.

"Hey," said Buffy tentatively, sitting down next to Willow. She suddenly remembered leaving her all alone in her room two evenings before, bailing out of the chemistry test on Friday, and standing her up when they were supposed to get together to study. In light of everything that had happened since all of that, Buffy now felt horrible that she'd ever chosen Faith over Willow. She mentally vowed never to make that mistake again.

"Hey," said Willow. "Where's Faith? I-I saw her around. Figured you two were gonna go kill some more nasty stuff."

"Not right now," said Buffy, her expression hardening slightly at the mention of Faith. "I think she bailed."

There was a short pause, and then they both began to speak at once, then broke off awkwardly.

"Um, you go ahead," said Buffy, trying to sound as friendly as possible but still seething about what Faith had said.

"I'm late," said Willow, putting her book back in her bag. "I-I'm meeting Michael. The warlock guy? We're still trying to de-rat Amy."

"Okay," said Buffy with a weak smile, her heart sinking.

"So, see you," said Willow after another awkward silence, and she got up and left.

"See you," said Buffy gloomily, long after Willow was out of earshot.

[o]

Before sundown, Buffy made a quick stop by Angel's apartment, so frazzled by nerves at that point that she felt almost as if she were unraveling.

"Hey," said Angel, letting her in and closing the door behind her. Then, almost immediately, "What's wrong?" The tidal waves of tension rolling off Buffy would be easy to spot for pretty much anyone, but he was the resident champion of reading her emotions.

"I, um, I don't think you should come with me tonight," she said, her expression anxious.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "What happened?"

"It's Faith. She—she said she'd tell the Watchers' Council you're still alive if I told anyone about what happened."

"She _what_?" he growled, looking shocked and angry.

"If she's going down, she wants to take someone else with her. She sure knows how to pick her weapons," said Buffy with a bitter laugh. Faith probably didn't even realize just how much power she wielded over her with that threat. She looked miserably back up into Angel's face. "So, just, try to stay out of her way until we can figure something out. I don't want to give her any reasons to get jumpy and spill the beans on us first. I'm going with her to City Hall in a little while to look for stuff about the deputy mayor. I'll try to talk some sense into her then." She scowled. "Or maybe beat it into her."

"Be careful," he said. The atmosphere in the apartment could not have been more different from what it had been the previous evening. It was hard to believe that only a day before, they had both been happier than they had ever been in their lives.

"I will," she promised. Almost as if they were drawn together by some magnetic force, they wrapped their arms tightly around each other and kissed fiercely for a moment, trying to reassure themselves through the embrace that everything was going to be okay.

"I'll get in touch with you as soon as I can," said Buffy after they broke apart. Angel nodded, his expression still serious as he watched her depart.

[o]

The tension and hostility between Buffy and Faith was almost tangible, but Buffy wasn't going to be the one to ignite it, for fear that Faith would decide to make her threat a reality if she did.

"I'm telling you, we did the world a favor," said Faith. The two Slayers had snuck into City Hall, and were in the process of scouring Allan Finch's office for useful information—none of which they had managed to find so far. "This guy was about as interesting as watching paint dry."

"_Faith_," said Buffy, appalled that she could say something like that.

"I'm joking. Jeez, lighten up a little, B." She picked up a picture of Allan and Mayor Wilkins and stared at it while Buffy went through the papers in the inbox on the desk. "He came out of nowhere," she said quietly.

Buffy looked at her sympathetically. Was this the remorse she'd been waiting to hear from her? "I know," she said.

Faith's expression instantly became annoyed, and she put the picture down hard. "Whatever," she said. "I'm not looking to hug and cry and learn and grow. I'm just saying it happened quick, you know?"

Buffy did know. She could still see the whole thing in her head.

It only took a few more seconds for Faith to lose patience with the search. "You know what? Let's just blow," she said. "Who cares what this guy was about? It's kind of moot now, don't you think?"

"I don't think he was in that alley by chance," said Buffy. "I think he was looking for us. I'd like to know why." She pulled open a drawer in the filing cabinet and found that all of the files were empty.

"So, what, you think there's some big conspiracy?" said Faith.

Buffy opened another drawer and found more empty files. "You were saying?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

"So his papers are gone," said Faith, still bored. "That doesn't prove anything."

"Except that somebody didn't want us to prove anything," said Buffy.

Faith's eyes widened slightly in comprehension.

After a few more minutes, they left the room, but had no sooner stepped into the hall than a door farther down it opened. The mayor emerged, accompanied by none other than the vampire who had hired Ethan Rayne to sell the candy that made the town's adults act like teenagers the previous fall. Buffy and Faith scrambled hastily back into Allan's office and closed the door. They stared at each other in alarm as they listened to the voices traveling down the hall outside.

"Get as many men on it as you can," said the mayor.

"Yeah," replied the vampire. "We'll be wanting to turn up the heat."

Once the voices faded into the distance, they left City Hall as quickly and quietly as they could. They only slowed down once they'd gotten a couple of streets away.

"So, the Mayor of Sunnydale is a Black Hat," said Faith, sounding intrigued. "That's a shocker, huh?"

"Actually, yeah," said Buffy. "I didn't get the bad guy vibe off of him."

"When are you gonna learn, B?" said Faith flippantly. "It doesn't matter what kind of vibe you get off a person, 'cause nine times out of ten, the face they're showing you is not the real one."

"I guess you know a lot about that," said Buffy under her breath.

Faith rounded on her. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her lip curling slightly.

"It's just, look at you, Faith," said Buffy. "Less than forty-eight hours ago, you killed a man. A-and now it's all zip-a-dee-doo-dah? That's not _your_ real face, and I know it." She paused and tried to make her tone a little less confrontational. "Look, I know what you're feeling because I'm feeling it, too."

"Do you?" asked Faith insolently. "Then fill me in, 'cause I'd like to hear this."

"Dirty," said Buffy. "Like something sick crept inside you and you can't get it out. And you keep hoping that it was just some nightmare, but it wasn't. And we are gonna have to figure out—"

"Is there gonna be an intermission in this?" Faith interrupted.

"Just let me talk to Giles, okay?" asked Buffy pleadingly, "I swear—"

"No!" Faith almost shouted. "Did you _not_ hear me earlier? We're not bringing _anybody_ else into this, unless you want some of Giles's stuffier Watcher buddies to know about Angel. You gotta keep your head, B. This is all gonna blow over in a few days."

"And if it doesn't?"

"If it doesn't," she said, shrugging, "they got a freighter leaving the docks at least twice a day. It ain't fancy, but it gets you gone."

"And that's it?" said Buffy in disbelief. "You just live with it? You see the dead guy in your head every day for the rest of your life?"

"Buffy, I'm not gonna _see_ anything. I missed the mark last night and I'm sorry about the guy, I _really_ am, but it happens! Anyway, how many people do you think we've saved by now, thousands? And didn't you stop the world from ending? Because in my book, that puts you and me in the plus column."

"We help people!" said Buffy. "It doesn't mean we can do whatever we want!"

"Why not?" asked Faith. "The guy I offed was no Gandhi. I mean, we just saw he was mixed up in dirty dealings."

"Maybe, but what if he was coming to us for help?" Did Faith really believe that they could just decide who got to live?

"What if he was? You're still not seeing the big picture, B. Something made us different. We're warriors. We're built to kill."

"To kill demons! But it does _not_ mean that we get to pass judgment on people like we're better than everybody else!"

"We _are_ better!"

Buffy stared at her, utterly speechless and unable to believe her ears.

"That's right," said Faith, "_better_. People need us to survive. In the balance, nobody's gonna cry over some random bystander who got caught in the crossfire."

"I am," said Buffy quietly.

"Well, that's your loss," said Faith scornfully. With that, she turned her back on Buffy and walked away.

* * *

More canon-lifting. Joy. And rapture. And other lovely things. *scowl* Anyway, Faith has had less than a month to get used to the idea of a good vampire, as opposed to half a year, and it doesn't help that Buffy's the one who gets to snog him. Hence blackmail. And there really is nothing Buffy can do but go along with Faith in this situation. Then there's the lovely little Buffy/Angel scene, which I like because of how serious it is in spite of more snogging.


	33. Dropping Eaves

About three hours had elapsed since Buffy and Faith had parted ways on the street, and the greater portion of that time had been spent very uncomfortably answering the questions of Detective Stein. Having no other option, Buffy had told him lie after lie until he finally left her alone, though he didn't look as if she had convinced him.

It was no good. She needed to talk to someone about this. And, as she also needed to repair the rift that had grown between herself and Willow, her house was where she headed. She felt the stress coiling and twisting in her insides as she raised her hand to knock on Willow's balcony door, thinking that she was probably going to have stomach ulcers by the time this was over—if it ever ended.

The door opened, and there was Willow, looking unsure of how to react to seeing her best friend standing there.

"Hey," said Buffy.

"Hey," said Willow.

"I need to talk to you," said Buffy, making no attempt to conceal just how desperately she meant it.

"Good," said Willow, turning and walking towards her bed. Buffy entered and closed the door behind her. "'Cause, I've been letting things fester. And I don't like it. I want to be fester-free."

"Yeah," said Buffy with a weak smile. "Me, too."

"I mean, don't get me wrong," said Willow. "I-I completely understand why you and Faith have been doing the bonding thing. You guys work together. You...you should get along." But she didn't sound as if she understood it quite that well.

"It's more complicated than that," said Buffy.

Willow looked hurt and frustrated. "But, see, it's that exact thing that-that's just ticking me off! It's this whole 'Slayers only' attitude. I mean, since when wouldn't I understand? You, you talk to me about _everything_. I-it's like, all of a sudden, I-I'm not cool enough for you because I can't kill things with my bare hands."

Buffy burst into tears and covered her mouth with a hand.

"Oh!" said Willow, looking aghast. "Oh, Buffy! Don't cry." She wrapped her arms around Buffy in a slightly awkward attempt to console her. "I'm sorry. I-I was too hard on you. Sometimes I unleash. I-I don't know my own strength. I-i-it's bad. I-I-I'm bad. I'm a bad, bad, bad person." She stopped speaking, looking stricken.

"Wil, I'm in trouble," said Buffy.

"You want to-to talk about it?" asked Willow, trying to look sympathetic rather than distressed. Buffy nodded, and Willow gestured at the bed. They both sat down on its edge, and Willow listened with a mixture of shock, disbelief, alarm, and horror as Buffy explained what had happened.

"And Faith acts like she doesn't even care. The way she talks, it's like she didn't even make a mistake."

"Do you think she's, like, i-in shock?"

Buffy sighed. "I don't know. And I think that detective knows more than he's saying. I think he knew that I was lying."

"You have to go to Giles, Buffy," said Willow. "He'll know what to do."

"But what if Faith finds out and tells the Council about Angel? How can I risk it?"

"Well, If Giles can hide stuff from a bunch of guys who probably graduated from Oxford, then what makes you think he can't hide this from one high school dropout who isn't exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer?"

Buffy looked at her, still uncertain.

"Buffy, Giles will protect you. He always protects you. You need to talk to him, and you can't let Faith scare you away from him."

[o]

Buffy walked into the library, feeling better after talking to Willow, but still not entirely convinced that this was a good idea. "Giles?" she called hesitantly.

The ex-Watcher stepped out of his office. "Buffy," he said.

"Uh...," she began, twisting her hands together uneasily. "I don't really know how to say this, so I'm-I'm just gonna say it. I can't keep something like this from you—" She broke off, panic and fear erupting within her as Faith stepped out of the office and stood next to Giles, her eyes on Buffy, her expression hard. "But, um…." Buffy struggled to come up with something else to say that would convince Faith that she hadn't been about to tell. "But I-I've been blowing off my classes," she invented feebly, fighting back tears. She _hated_ this! "You know, in-in the sense of not attending. And, uh...."

"It's okay, Buffy. I told him," said Faith.

Buffy looked at her in surprise. "You told him?"

"I had to," said Faith, not meeting her eyes. "He had to know what you did."

"What I did?" Buffy repeated blankly. Then her meaning sank in and she recoiled in horror. "Giles, no," she said. "Tha-That's just not what happened."

"I don't want to hear it, Buffy," said Giles coldly.

"No!" said Buffy desperately, the threat of oncoming tears growing ever more insistent. "It—"

"I don't want to hear any more lies," he said, cutting her off mid-protest.

Buffy turned to Faith in horrified disbelief. "You can't be serious! Blackmail wasn't enough, so now you're setting me up?"

"Get in my office, now," ordered Giles. "Faith, I'll talk to you in the morning."

"Giles, please," said Buffy, the tears now making their way down her cheeks. "You have to—"

"Now!" he barked.

Buffy fell silent, feeling numb and cold. How had everything gone so wrong? She walked past Faith and Giles without a word. He believed Faith. After everything they'd been through together, he believed Faith over her. Believed that she was a killer. That she was even capable of something like that. This couldn't be happening. It _couldn't_.

"Um…sorry," she heard Faith say, then the sound of her combat boots against the floor as she left. A few seconds later, Giles joined her in the office.

"Giles, I didn't do this," she said imploringly. "I swear. The murder, i-it...it was—"

"Faith," he said grimly. "I know."

Buffy stared at him, feeling a small shoot of hope come to life in her frozen chest.

"She may have many talents, Buffy, but fortunately, lying is not one of them."

"Oh. Oh, God," said Buffy weakly. She sank, knees trembling slightly, into his desk chair. "I thought...." Overcome with relief, appreciation, and the remnants of horror from what she had believed he thought of her, she couldn't complete the sentence.

"I'm sorry," said Giles, and Buffy knew he meant it. "I needed her to think that I was on her side. I don't know how far she'll take this charade."

"Try far," said Buffy, thinking of everything Faith had said; what she'd threatened to say. "Like, all the way."

"You should have come to me right off," said Giles sternly.

"I know. Well, I, I wanted to," said Buffy earnestly.

"But Faith wouldn't hear of it?" he guessed.

"She threatened to turn Angel over to the Council if I told," she said, anger starting to eclipse her other emotions again. She shook her head to clear it. "But the deputy mayor—it wasn't all her fault, Giles. We both thought he was a vampire. I only realized it a second before."

[o]

Wesley walked into the library, intending to retrieve a book he thought he might have left there. It was a rather spooky place at night, he thought, then mentally berated himself for letting something so trivial get to him. It was quite a few times more inviting than the dungeons at headquarters, after all, and he'd had no trouble going down there day after day—but he still found himself hoping that Angel wouldn't mind starting those training sessions a little sooner than they'd discussed. And, really, there wasn't much sense in putting it off, was there? A vampire or demon seeking to attack him couldn't be expected to wait politely until he was ready to confront it.

Wesley found the book he'd left almost at once, as it was sitting alone on the counter. He picked it up and turned to go, but realized as he did so that voices were coming from the office. More specifically, the voices of Buffy and Mr. Giles. What were they doing here so late? Ignoring the small admonitory voice in the back of his mind that sternly pointed out that he was eavesdropping, he paused to listen.

What he heard was not at all to his taste. It seemed that Faith had been the culprit behind the death of Deputy Mayor Allan Finch—though, according to Buffy, that had been an accident. While this news alone was quite shocking enough to be going on with, what really caught Wesley's attention was that Faith had apparently threatened Angel in an attempt to ensure that Buffy would remain silent about the incident.

Wesley barely registered the next portion of the conversation taking place in the office, though the small part of him that was still listening whole-heartedly agreed with Mr. Giles in his decision not to involve the Council. To do so would be to bring them far too close to Angel, and that was not something Wesley was willing to risk, no matter what Faith had done.

Anger pulsed through him in hot, bubbling waves. To think that, after everything he had done for Angel—after everything Angel had been through, it could all come to nothing because of the selfishness of one unruly girl. She had fought at Angel's side, had she not? And she had certainly fought at Buffy's, for over half a year! How, therefore, could she be willing to go as far as destroying him, and probably her as well?

Within the office, Buffy and Mr. Giles were now talking of helping Faith; of getting her to claim responsibility for her actions. Wesley, however, did not feel like being so indulgent. He would much sooner lock her up and make her live in conditions like those Angel had been forced to endure in the bowels of Council headquarters than show her compassion and understanding. And then, perhaps, she wouldn't be so quick to threaten sending Angel back to that place.

Incensed as he was, though, Wesley was not foolish enough to imagine for a second that he would be able to accomplish this dark fantasy. Faith was a Slayer—an unbalanced Slayer, moreover—, while he was an inexperienced Watcher who had already proven that he was embarrassingly lacking the arena of physical combat. With that knowledge, Wesley was forced to the unpleasant conclusion that, unless by some highly unlikely stroke of luck, Faith was struck dumb and forgot how to write, the only logical route to take was the one Buffy and Mr. Giles were discussing. He walked forward until he stood in the doorway of the office.

"Forgive me," he said, "but I couldn't help overhearing." There was nothing pompous about his manner now. He was grave and purposeful. "I want to help, if I can."

They stared at him, Buffy looking somewhat glad to see him, Mr. Giles looking slightly skeptical and wary. "It is appreciated," he said, "but you're not exactly the most impartial person in this matter."

"Nor are either of you," Wesley countered.

"I'm sorry, Wes," said Buffy, and she meant it, "but I don't think what Faith needs right now is another authority figure."

"Well," he said, trying to recover from this rejection. "I'll see if I can't plant a few false telephone numbers for her in the event that she tries to contact the Council, then, shall I? I didn't go all the way to Romania to have the Kalderash anchor Angel's soul just so my _admirable_ employers could throw him back in that dungeon."

"What?" said Giles sharply. "Anchored?"

"Angel won't be able to lose his soul again," said Buffy.

"How can you be certain?" he asked in concern.

"I'm, um, pretty certain," said Buffy, feeling the heat rising in her face. Wesley realized what she meant by that and blushed as well.

"I see," said Giles, both his tone and expression unreadable. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but decided to set it aside until after this business with Faith had been resolved.

* * *

Aaand, *more* canon-lifting. *head desk* *head desk* *head desk* Hopefully the scene with Wesley in the last third of the chapter made up for it. I particularly like the part when he's imagining locking Faith in a dungeon so that she can see what it was like for Angel. It feels like getting a glimpse of the sort of emotions that enabled him to chain Justine up in his closet for months. Bwaha.


	34. Deponcification

"Well, maybe we should all talk to Faith together," suggested Willow. It was the next day after school, and she, Buffy, Xander, and Giles all sat together in the middle of the forest of chairs resting upside down on their tables in the deserted cafeteria.

"And make it look like we're ganging up on her?" said Buffy, highly skeptical.

"You're right," said Giles, "Faith is too defensive for a confrontation like that. She'll respond better to a one-on-one approach."

"Well, I can be the one...on her one," said Xander. Everyone looked at him blankly. "Let's rephrase. I think she might listen to me. We kind of have, um, a connection."

"A connection?" Buffy repeated doubtfully. "Why would you think that—"

"I'm just saying it's worth a shot," he interrupted a little defensively. "That's all." Buffy and Willow looked at each other, wearing matching expressions of confusion.

"No," said Giles, "I don't see it, Xander. I mean, of, of all of us, you're the one person, arguably, that Faith has had the least contact with."

"Yeah, but we hung out a little, recently, and she seemed to be, um…responsive," said Xander slightly awkwardly. With a painful twist of her heart, Willow understood. She wilted slightly in her seat. So, both of her best friends had chosen Faith over her.

Buffy and Giles, however, were a little slower on the uptake. "When did you guys hang out?" asked Buffy, frowning.

"Oh, she was fighting one of those, uh, apocalypse demon things," said Xander, "and I helped her. Gave her a ride home."

"And you guys talked?"

"Not extensively. No."

"Then why would you—," Buffy broke off, finally getting what Xander meant. Her eyes widened, and she suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable. "Oh."

"Oh!" said Giles, also getting it. He and Buffy both looked at Willow, who didn't notice for a couple of seconds.

"I don't need to say 'oh'," she said in a brave attempt at a casual, indifferent tone, "I got it before. They slept together." Buffy watched her sympathetically, and Xander felt the first real stab of shame about his impulsive actions with the dark-haired Slayer.

"Fine, fine, le-let's move on," said Giles after a very tense silence.

The discussion soon turned to the subject of the mayor and his evidently malignant leanings. It was a big problem, and none of them quite new what to do about it. Ultimately (and predictably), Giles suggested research, with which Willow agreed to help him.

[o]

"You and Buffy discussed Faith, I take it?" said Wesley, throwing a punch that Angel blocked lazily. Neither of their apartments was large enough, so they were at the mansion on Crawford Street.

"Yeah, she told me what's going on," said Angel, dropping to a crouch and using a sweeping kick that knocked the Watcher's feet out from under him, causing him to fall to the ground in a heap.

"Are you sure you aren't merely having a laugh at my expense?" Wesley grumbled, picking himself off the floor for at least the fifth time in recent minutes. "Because I distinctly recall asking you to _train_ me."

"I _am_ training you," said Angel patiently. "But you're telegraphing. I can see all of your attacks coming a mile away."

"Why are we sparring already, anyway?" asked Wesley. "You haven't taught me anything yet."

"It was the best way to find out what you know," said Angel. "Which, to be perfectly blunt, isn't much."

"Thanks," said Wesley flatly.

"So it's a good thing you're here now instead of out trying to hunt demons," Angel continued, as if Wesley hadn't spoken.

Wesley nodded and readjusted his glasses, his expression becoming determined. "Shall we continue, then?"

"If you're ready."

The sparring recommenced, with no change in how categorically Wesley was losing. Trying to take the focus away from his humiliating performance, he brought up something else he'd been hoping to get advice on. "So, erm, do you know much about, er, Miss Chase?"

"You mean Cordelia?" asked Angel. He kept his face straight, but it was one of those rare times that it was difficult for him to do.

"Yes," said Wesley. "What, er, what do you think of her?"

The honest answer would have been something to the effect of "I think she's a spoiled, self-centered airhead and you can do much better," but the poorly suppressed hopefulness in Wesley's expression told Angel not to give it. "She's, uh, outgoing and athletic," he said. "I don't really know her all that well, though." Except for when she'd shamelessly hit on him, he qualified mentally. She had, on those occasions, reminded him rather forcibly of some of the more assertive tavern wenches he had known in Galway, which had been both entertaining and slightly alarming. Ultimately, he was very glad that she seemed to have gotten over him. "Why?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," said Wesley quickly, turning bright red.

Over the course of the next hour, Angel went about showing Wesley how to improve his stance to efficiently get the maximum amount of power out of his punches and kicks (weapons would come later). He was so eager to learn as much as he could that he was already showing a fair amount of improvement, but they still had a lot of work to do.

"So, what are you going to do about Faith?" asked Wesley as he went through some of the katas Angel had shown him, with Angel observing his technique critically.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she's threatening to sell you out to the Council! I tampered with their contact information enough to hopefully prevent her from reaching them, but that won't stop her forever, if she's really determined."

"She can try," said Angel, "but I'm not going back to that dungeon." He was through being punished by the prejudice of men. Though he was still reluctant to go as far as believing that he was innocent, he was determined to make amends for his past on his own terms. Or, at least, he would try. Buffy and Wesley believed in him, and he wanted to feel that they had a reason to do so beyond the fact that he had a soul.

They continued training until it started to get dark outside, and then they rounded off the session with another sparring match. Wesley did much better at dodging Angel's blows than before, but he was so surprised when he actually landed one of his own that he dropped his guard, with the result that he found himself on the floor again a second later. Despite this ungraceful finish, Wesley felt lighthearted and eager for the next session.

Buffy arrived as he was toweling sweat off his face and neck, and stopped dead in her tracks. She was, of course, used to seeing Angel wearing an undershirt and sweatpants, but she had so far only seen Wesley dressed in his crisp, very professional suits. The sight, therefore, of him in an old gray t-shirt and navy blue sweats had her struggling, with difficulty, to suppress a fit of giggles. In the end, she managed to pass them off as a cough, which alerted them to her presence. Angel flashed her the kind of brilliant smile she rarely saw from him, which turned her legs into a pair of wobbly noodles that barely supported her weight.

"Good evening, Buffy," said Wesley cordially.

"H-how'd the training go?" she asked, fighting to get a grip on herself.

Angel opened his mouth to answer, but Wesley forestalled him. "It went very well, I think," he said, puffing out his chest comically. Buffy looked at Angel with slightly raised eyebrows.

"It did," he confirmed honestly. "How are you?"

"Okay," she said. "I was just about to head for patrol, actually. Wanted to stop by first, and the note at your apartment said you'd be here."

"Want me to come with you?" he asked.

"No, that's okay," she said quickly. She felt sure that if he accompanied her, not much actual patrolling would take place, and she didn't want to run the risk of failing to protect some unknown innocent because she was too preoccupied with her boyfriend. Especially not now, with Faith's situation still so uncertain and the new trouble of the mayor. "What about you, though, Wes?" she asked.

Wesley jumped slightly, looking positively alarmed at the idea. "Oh, erm. Well. I think, perhaps, it would be wise if I trained a bit more before, er, jumping into the fray," he said, trying to use a sensible, reasoned tone, but failing extravagantly. "I'll, er, see you both later then, shall I?" With that, he left, and Buffy and Angel exchanged amused glances.

"Yeah, he's not going to be ready for that for a while," said Angel, shaking his head and chuckling.

"I know," said Buffy. "But it's really funny when he tries to be the stiff, smooth, in-control guy whenever something freaks him out." She frowned. "Am I still being mean to him?"

"No, it is kinda funny," said Angel. "He takes himself a little too seriously."

After a brief, unavoidable make-out session, Buffy left for patrol. A few minutes later, Angel exited the mansion as well, heading in a different direction. He just had a feeling…all this stuff had been building up with Faith, but nobody was keeping an eye on her. That worried him a little. She was at an unpredictable stage, lashing out at anyone who tried to help her, and she kept making choices that would only create worse problems—for more people than just her.

As it happened, it was incredibly fortunate that he decided to check on her when he did. When he arrived at the thoroughly second-rate hotel where she was staying, it was to find that she had company. Xander was there with her, and was, by the sound of it, making a rather admirable but somewhat ill-advised attempt to convince her that he and the others were on her side, and of the lengths to which he was prepared to go to defend her.

Angel's respect for the boy increased slightly, but then things began to go steeply downhill. Thanking whatever power it was that had excluded public accommodations from the invitation rule, he entered the room. Faith was straddling Xander on the bed, and her hands were at his throat with lethal force. Glancing around for a weapon, Angel spotted a baseball bat leaning against the dresser, and caught it up. Faith looked around just in time to receive the bat full in the face, and she collapsed, unconscious.

* * *

This is quite possibly my favorite chapter title of them all. New words are fun, aren't they? And finally some more shirtless Angel. He's been missing for far too long.


	35. Deadly Sins

Faith remained unconscious for about half an hour, during which Angel had plenty of time to haul her to the mansion and restrain her with some heavy chains he found in a trunk underneath some of Drusilla's dolls. He made a mental note to burn those as soon as he could—along with anything else that might still remain in the place of his, Dru's, and Spike's stay there. After making sure the chains would hold Faith satisfactorily, he left to find Buffy. He managed it in a matter of minutes, but neglected to mention to her that he'd done so by following her scent.

"Angel!" she said, jumping in surprise and hastily lowering her stake. "What are you doing here? And it's not really a good idea to sneak up on a Slayer in a graveyard, by the way."

"Sorry," he said. "It's Faith."

Buffy's expression became serious and worried. "Faith? What happened?"

"I went to her place to check up on her." He paused. "She was strangling Xander."

"Xander?! But h-he's—"

"He passed out, but he's gonna be fine. I got her away from him before—he's gonna be fine."

"Oh, God," she said, her voice high and squeaky. Angel moved forward quickly and pulled her into his arms. "Was she really trying to-to—"

"Yeah. It didn't sound like she planned it, but she would have killed him if I hadn't gotten there in time."

"I thought we could help her!" Buffy burst out, her face streaked with angry tears.

"I think we still can," he said. "Let me talk to her."

"Where is she?"

"The mansion. She's chained up and unconscious." He hesitated, suddenly experiencing a vivid flashback to what that had been like for him. It made him slightly uncomfortable to think that he was the jailor this time, even though it _was_ a necessary precaution.

[o]

They wasted no time in getting back to the mansion, where Buffy stayed in the courtyard to wait and Angel sat on the table in front of the enormous hearth, his eyes on Faith. She woke up a few minutes later, and spotted him a few seconds after that.

"Finally decided to tie me up, huh? I always knew you weren't really a one-Slayer guy."

Angel almost snorted with derision. Including his time in Hell, he was over three and a half centuries old. Did she really think she was going to put him on the ropes with her weak suggestive taunts? Amateur. "Sorry about the chains," he said, toying idly with the bat he'd knocked her out with. "It's not that I don't trust you…," he set the bat aside and stood up. "Actually, what with framing Buffy, wanting to sell me out to the Council, and trying to strangle Xander, it _is_ that I don't trust you."

"The thing with Xander? I know what it looked like, but we were just playing," she said in the most unconvincingly innocent tone Angel had ever heard, though that was probably intentional.

"And he forgot the safety word," said Angel dryly, walking towards her. "Is that it?"

"Safety words are for wusses," said Faith.

"I bet you're not big on trust games, now, are you, Faith?" he asked, crouching down in front of her.

"You gonna shrink me now? Is that it?" she said scathingly.

"No. I just want to talk to you."

"That's what they all say. And then it's just, 'Let me stay the night. Won't try anything.'"

"You want to go the long way around, hey, I can do that," said Angel, standing up again. "I'm not getting any older." He turned his back on her and walked across the room and out into the courtyard, where Buffy was still waiting.

"How's she doing?" she asked anxiously.

"It's like talking to a wall," he said. "Only you get more from a wall."

"But you'll keep trying?" The words came out a little half-hearted. Buffy wanted to help Faith, she really did, but the marks against her were really starting to tally up.

"Sure. We're just getting started."

"So, what do I do?" she asked, wanting to make up for her flagging enthusiasm by doing something productive. Angel seemed to understand this, for when he spoke, his tone was gentle.

"Look, right now, there's nothing that you can do," he said.

"Well, this could take awhile, right?" she asked, going to the stairs. "So, I'll just go to Faith's and I'll get some of her stuff. That way she'll see that we're on her side."

"That's a good idea," said Angel.

"Okay," she said, sounding encouraged. "I'll be back."

"Look, I—I don't want you to get your hopes up, Buffy," he said hesitantly. "She may not want us to help her."

"She does," said Buffy firmly. "She just doesn't know how to say it."

"She killed a man. That changes everything for her." Something he probably knew more about than anyone, he added mentally.

"Giles said with counseling, they might not even need to lock her up," said Buffy, clearly not understanding his point.

"That's not what I mean," he said, looking away. "She's taken a life."

"I know."

He looked back into her eyes. "She's got a taste for it now."

Horrified comprehension flashed across her features, but then she shook herself and backed a couple of steps up the stairs. "I'll, um, I'll be back soon," she said, and departed.

Angel watched her go somewhat gloomily, then turned and went back to Faith, who scowled and looked away from him. "I know what's going on with you," he said.

"Join the club," she said in a bored voice. "Everybody seems to have a theory."

"Hmm," he said, walking to the wall across from her. "But I _know_ what it's like to take a life. To feel a future, a world of possibilities, snuffed out by your own hand. I know the power in it. The exhilaration. It was like a drug for me."

"Yeah? Sounds like you need some help. A professional, maybe."

He chuckled. "A professional couldn't have helped me. I stopped when I got my soul back. My human heart."

"Goody for you," said Faith. "Look, if we're gonna party, let's get on with it. Otherwise, could you let me out of these things?" she asked, holding out her shackled wrists.

"Faith, you have a choice," he said, ignoring her words. "You've tasted something few ever do. I mean, to kill without remorse…is to feel like a god."

"Right now," she said, struggling angrily against the chains, "all I feel is a cramp in my wrists, so let me go!"

"But you're not a god," he continued, crouching in front of her again. "You're not much more than a child. Going down this path will ruin you. You can't imagine the price for true evil."

"Yeah?" she sneered. "I hope evil takes MasterCard."

He chuckled again. She reminded him a lot of himself when he was her age, rebellious and unruly—though his main problem then had been sloth, while hers was clearly wrath. "You and me, Faith," he said, standing up, "we're a lot alike. Time was, I thought humans existed just to hurt each other." He turned and sat next to her. "But then I came here. I found out that there are other types of people. People who genuinely want to do right. And they make mistakes. They fall down, you know, but they keep caring. Keep trying." He glanced at her and saw that she seemed to be listening for the first time. At the very least, her scowl was gone. "If you can trust us, Faith, this can all change. You don't have to disappear into the darkness."

There was a long silence that was eventually broken by Faith. "How do you know I haven't already?" Her tone was unreadable.

"You didn't kill Xander. If you had, I might have run a little short on benefit of the doubt."

"I almost did," she said. This time, he could clearly distinguish both horror and wonder in her voice.

"That rush of power and control, right? You wanted to see how far it would take you. Problem is, darkness like that? You can't just touch it. It seems powerful at first, but before you know it, you're its slave. I don't know you very well, but I do know that you're stronger than this. It was no coincidence that you were chosen to be a Slayer: a force of good in this world. You don't want to go from that to where I am. Trying to make up for the past, afraid that it'll never be enough, because you can't ever repair the damage you did no matter what you do. But you have a choice I never had. You haven't gone over it yet; you still have the chance to step away from that cliff."

He knew he had her now—that she was seeing what her future would be if she continued down her current path. "Look, Faith, what you did to Allan Finch was an accident, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen. You can't move on if you don't accept that it did." He reached slowly into his pocket and drew out the key to her manacles. "I'm on your side. We all are." He placed the key on the floor next to her and stood up. "Never forget that."

She picked up the key and looked at him, slightly bewildered. "So you're gonna let me go? Just like that?"

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't run off and tell the Council I'm alive, but yeah. Just like that. What happens next is up to you."

"I won't tell them," she said, and he knew she meant it, even though she avoided his gaze. She unlocked her manacles and rubbed her wrists, remaining seated and still looking away from him. "Uh. Xander. He's okay, right?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't expect him to like you very much from now on, though. And the same probably goes for Wes, at least for now."

She gave a small, humorless chuckle.

"Doesn't change what I said. You messed up, Faith, and that's always going to have consequences. I'm letting you go, but even if you run, you'll never escape it all. Believe me. This isn't something you can do on your own."

* * *

Okay, the post-canon bit of the conversation between Angel and Faith was hard to write. Hence the posting delay (though that was also caused by my sudden obsessive desire to watch all four seasons of _Bones_ before season five starts). I almost wanted to just let it get interrupted like in canon so I wouldn't have to write it, but I think it worked well in the end. What say you?


	36. Ye of Little Faith

This time, the delay was due to a combination of work, my continued obsession with getting caught up with _Bones_ (only four episodes to go now, incidentally), and the rather time-consuming business of moving fifteen hundred miles back to school for the new semester. (Which means that, along with a few less exciting classes, I get to start Japanese and Archery in a few days! Nerd heaven. Seriously. Cannot wait. *happy giggle*) Anyway, for anyone who freaked out last chapter because Angel let Faith go, please relax. He knows what he's doing.

* * *

As well-meaning as her plan to bring a few of Faith's belongings to the mansion had been, once she was actually _at_ the hotel room, Buffy realized that Faith didn't really have much in the way of belongings. No books, no games…it was pretty much just clothes and weapons. Bringing weapons to a volatile, unpredictable Slayer would be completely counterproductive, but clothes wouldn't really prove that they were on her side the way Buffy wanted to prove it either. Feeling both annoyed and foolish, she left the hotel again, trying to think of a good Plan B.

By the time she reached the mansion again, she still hadn't thought of anything, but was hopeful that Angel might be able to help her out with that. To her surprise, she found him leaning casually against the mansion's outer wall, apparently waiting for her.

"Uh, so, what's going on with Faith?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

"She left," he said.

Buffy gaped at him for several seconds before finding her voice. "She _what_?" she asked.

"She left," he repeated.

"Wha—but—how?" Buffy spluttered.

"I let her go," he said.

"Why would you do that? Two hours ago, she tried to kill my best friend, and she's spent the intermittent time between then and when she committed manslaughter framing me and threatening to sic the Watchers' Council on you!"

"Do you really think that keeping her chained up is going to earn us back her trust and allegiance?" he asked patiently. "I had to let her go before she could escape on her own. I told her what she needed to hear. She listened. I let her go. Now it's up to her to prove that wasn't a mistake."

"And you really think she will?" asked Buffy, less indignant now but still very skeptical.

"I do. This isn't something we can force. We have to give her the opportunity to choose right on her own. Personally, I think there's a good chance she'll come through."

"So you're just going to let her run off and do whatever?" asked Buffy, her skepticism more audible than ever.

"Of course not. I'm going to follow her. I just thought it would be good to tell you instead of letting you come back to an empty mansion to draw the worst conclusion."

At these words, Buffy was instantly visited by the thought of what would have happened had he not shown such foresight, and she had found the place deserted. She would have thought something horrible had happened; that Faith had broken free and attacked Angel, perhaps, or that she had already contacted the Council and they had taken him away. Her throat suddenly felt very tight, and she moved forward and hugged him, burying her face in his chest. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he replied, holding her close. They stayed that way for a few seconds, then pulled back a few inches. "I think Faith'll be okay on her own for now," he said in a low, comforting voice. "In the meantime, we should go to Willy's and see if he's heard anything about the investigation on the deputy mayor's death."

[o]

Willy's bar was mostly deserted when they arrived, something for which Buffy was grateful. When she and Angel entered together and made directly for the oily little snitch of a barman, he recoiled and then became intensely interested in the glass he was cleaning.

"How's it going, Willy?" asked Buffy with just the slightest undercurrent of menace beneath her polite, cheery tone.

"Oh, you know, I'm getting by. You two, uh, sure you want to be coming here right now?" His gaze flickered nervously between Buffy and Angel.

"What do you mean?" asked Angel, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Willy's regret at letting slip that hint was displayed clearly on his face, but it was too late to take it back now. "Well, it's just that there's, uh, a whole gang of vamps on a Slayer hunt right now. Some of them are my patrons."

"_What_?" Angel growled.

"Hey, hey, it wasn't my idea!" Willy protested hastily. "It's, uh, it's the mayor. He put a hit out on you," he said, his eyes on Buffy, "and that other Slayer in town."

Buffy's eyes widened, and she looked at Angel. "He knows what happened," she said.

"Faith," said Angel. Without so much as a backward glance at Willy, they left the bar.

[o]

"Where would she go?" asked Angel as they half walked, half jogged down one street after the next, searching fruitlessly. They had already been to her hotel room, only to find it just as empty as it had been an hour earlier when Buffy stopped by.

"I don't know," said Buffy. "You don't think she left town, do you?"

"No," he said firmly, "I don't."

"She might be at one of the cemeteries, or maybe at the Bronze. One way or another, she probably wants to blow off some of the steam that's been building up over the last few days."

They passed two cemeteries on their way to the Bronze, with no sign of Faith at either, but their luck changed upon reaching the club. They entered the alley behind it and found Faith fighting for her life against the same vampire she and Buffy had seen with the mayor at City Hall, as well as about five others. She was fighting with everything in her, but was still barely keeping them at bay, and her strength appeared to be waning. Buffy and Angel wasted no time leaping into the fray to help her.

The vampires hadn't expected their opponent to gain allies, and so adapted poorly to the changing odds. Three of them went down within moments, during which Buffy and Angel lost track of each other and Faith. After her vampire was dust, Buffy looked around. To her left, Angel was fighting two at once, but to her right, Faith was facing the leader—the mayor's friend. In the second Buffy watched, frozen, the vampire threw his own necktie around Faith's throat and pulled it tight like a noose, then used it to throw her around like a piñata on its string. The next second, Buffy was running, faster even than she had run the night Kendra died, towards her fellow Slayer. She was not going to let this happen again.

The vampire was just leaning in for the bite when Buffy reached them and plunged Mr. Pointy violently through his back.

"Thanks…B.," Faith croaked after the vampire had turned to dust.

"I've still got your back," said Buffy with an anxiety-strained smile, holding out her hand. Faith took it and let Buffy help her up.

[o]

"With resources to send an assassination team after Buffy and Faith, the mayor is obviously a greater threat than we initially supposed," said Wesley grimly. He, Buffy, Angel, Faith, Giles, Xander, Willow, and Oz were all gathered in the library.

"No kidding, Captain Obvious," said Xander.

Giles shot him a reproving glare. "He's right," he said. "I feel it would be very foolish to leave Mayor Wilkins to his own devices under these circumstances."

"What do you mean?" asked Willow.

"That we need to find out more about what he's up to," said Angel. "Firsthand, if possible."

Giles nodded, then looked at Willow. "But I do want you to keep, erm, harking—"

"Hacking," Oz corrected.

"Yes, _hacking_ into the mayor's files," Giles went on with dignity while Buffy and Willow exchanged amused glances, "but it couldn't hurt to have a less, erm, virtual window into the nefarious goings-on of City Hall as well."

"What would that entail, exactly?" asked Wesley.

"Well, ideally, a spy," said Giles. "A double-agent, if you will."

"Harris. _Xander_ Harris," said Xander in his best imitation of Sean Connery's voice.

"Not you, Xander," said Giles flatly.

"What?" asked Xander resentfully. "I can be Secret Agent Guy. Can't be much different from Soldier Guy. I don't think it's too much to ask for a little confidence, you guys."

"Yes, I'm sure you'd be a right Eddie Chapman," said Giles dryly, "but there are the small problems of you having school and no enhanced abilities the mayor would want on his side."

"That leaves me," said Angel, before Xander could fling an angry retort at the ex-Watcher.

"No!" said Buffy at once, seizing him by the arm. Why was he always the first to suggest something that put himself at risk? Hadn't he been through enough already?

"You're not the only one not in school," said Faith a little hoarsely. Everyone stared at her. She scowled and avoided their gazes.

"Oh, yeah, that's _genius_," said Xander, whose neck bruises were quite as bad as hers, but more obvious because he didn't have long hair to hide them behind. "We send the girl who killed the bad guy's second-in-command and almost killed _me_ into the belly of the beast to work for him. It's not like _that_ plan could backfire in any way. And, by the way, why is she not locked up?"

With the exception of Faith, who continued to scowl at the floor, they all glared at Xander.

"I don't—," began Willow uncertainly, but she was interrupted by Wesley.

"I think it's brilliant," he said unexpectedly.

"Huh?" asked Buffy, surprised. She wasn't the only one.

"Well," said Wesley, "I think it very unlikely that the mayor would buy that someone like Angel would want to work for him, considering his relationship with Buffy."

"U-unless he pretended to be A-Angelus?" said Willow, sounding terrified by her own suggestion.

"That would be a bluff easily called," said Wesley. "Suppose the mayor ordered him to kill or turn Buffy?" Angel's eyes closed and fists half clenched at these words. Wesley didn't add that nowhere in his research of Angelus had he found the slightest indication that the infamous vampire was the type to be someone else's minion. Even from his days as a fledgling, Angelus had behaved as almost an equal to his sire—and, still more unheard of, had been openly defiant of _her_ sire. He took orders from no one. "No, in this situation, Angel is ill-suited to be a long-term spy." Angel nodded stiffly in agreement. "On the other hand, it is unlikely that the mayor knows very much about Faith except for what he may have gathered from recent, er, events. He would have much less reason to question her intentions than Angel's."

"Faith," said Giles in a tone that was both serious and kind. "This is a rather large responsibility. Are you quite certain you're up to it?"

Faith shot a fleeting glance at Angel, who gave the tiniest nod of encouragement, before looking up at Giles. "Yeah. I'll be five by five." She looked at Buffy and felt a sudden rush of gloating pleasure that here, at last, was a task for her alone—a task for which none of the credit and praise would go to Buffy.

[o]

Faith walked alone to City Hall. After all, it wouldn't do to be seen with the people she was supposed to be betraying, would it? There were no guards. Probably because they were now dust mingled with the other grime covering the floor of the alley behind the Bronze, she thought with a smirk. She didn't feel nervous. She felt purposeful and as reckless as ever. She was, as Xander had pointed out, about to enter the belly of the beast.

She made it all the way to the door to the office of the mayor himself without incident, but it opened from the inside before she could knock, and then she found herself looking up into the deceptively benign features of Mayor Richard Wilkins III.

"You sent your boy to kill me," she said with contempt.

"That's right, I did," he acknowledged blandly.

"He's dust," Faith informed him.

"I thought he might be, what with you standing here and all."

"So," she said as she took a brazen step forward, "I guess that means you have a job opening."

His interest obviously piqued, the mayor stepped back to allow her entrance and closed the door behind her.

* * *

Okay, the things I liked best about this one were Buffy using Mr. Pointy to save Kendra's successor from Mr. Trick, minimal canon-lifting, finding a place for Faith to say "five by five", getting to write Willy again, and Oz correcting Giles's computer-speak fail. Also, fun ensemble moment. And have I mentioned the minimal amount of canon-lifting? Because that makes me SO HAPPY.


	37. Pass the Breadsticks

"You have to keep your elbows in!" Angel barked with about as much patience as the average drill sergeant.

Wesley dropped out of his fighting stance and glared at him. "I _am_ keeping my elbows in. So much so, in fact, that if I kept them in any more, they'd be knocking together. I may still have a lot to learn, but I'm fairly certain that having one's elbows knocking together is not conducive to a well-balanced stance." When Angel didn't respond, Wesley gave him a look that was both shrewd and indignant. "If you wanted to stay at your apartment and brood, we could have rescheduled."

"No, it's okay," said Angel grudgingly.

"Is there anything going on? I know you're worried about Faith, but it's been two weeks since she started her double agent role, and it seems to be going rather well so far."

"It's not Faith," said Angel. He had been discreetly keeping an eye on her, as he had promised Buffy he would, and she seemed to be handling her task very well. The mayor had even gotten her an apartment in the nicer part of town, though she didn't know that yet.

"What, then?"

Angel grimaced. "I'm having dinner with Buffy and her mother tonight."

Wesley snickered. "_This _is what has the former Scourge of Europe so wound up?"

"Hey, have you ever had to be formally introduced to your girlfriend's mom when there was already an uncomfortable past between you and she knew you were a centuries old vampire?" Angel snapped.

Wesley's smirk faded as Angel began to pace the length of the room in agitation. "Good Lord. That _is_ a daunting prospect, isn't it?" Off the vampire's grave expression as he walked past him, he tried to think of something encouraging to say. "Well, surely this isn't the first time you've met one of the parents of a girl you were courting."

"Buffy's the only girl I've ever 'courted', Wes. When I was alive, there was hardly a tavern wench in Galway I hadn't had in and out of my bed, but no mother or father wanted their daughters coming anywhere near me—even if it would raise their status! Not that I was interested. I was happy with the tavern wenches." His tone was bitter and full of self-disgust. "After that, I may have been with Darla for a hundred and fifty years, but neither of us was ever faithful, and her presenting me to the Master wasn't exactly the same thing as meeting a parent. Then, once I got my soul, there was no one until Buffy."

"I see," said Wesley, who felt he should have realized as much already, given the amount of research he had done about Angel—not to mention that his own pen had filled in the blank spanning the entire twentieth century.

"What about you?" asked Angel, sounding a little hopeful beneath his brooding anxiety.

"What?" asked Wesley, distracted.

"Have you ever had a girlfriend introduce you to her parents?" Angel clarified, still pacing.

"Oh, er, well…not exactly," said Wesley. "The Watchers' Academy is split into two schools: one for boys and the other for girls. Ever since I graduated, I—well, no, overall, there hasn't been much dating." His thoughts turned, as they had so frequently done for the past fortnight, to Cordelia Chase, but he didn't bring her up, not wanting to sound even more pathetic than he already did. The trouble was that no matter how much he beat himself over the head with the fact that she was a student, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about her, and she wasn't making it any easier. But, on the other hand, he thought, Angel and Buffy were together, and she was still a student too—no, that argument wouldn't work. When Angel was alive, it was perfectly normal for a girl to be married when she was Buffy's age or even younger, and more often than not to a much older man, so his relationship with her probably didn't strike him as unusual at all—at least, not in _that_ way. Wesley shook his head slightly to clear it.

"Buffy and I have been spending a lot of time together lately." Angel was talking more to himself than to Wesley now. "I don't know how much Joyce knows or suspects about that. What I told her last year when I had no soul didn't help. She probably hates me." He gave a humorless snort of laughter. "Of course she hates me! I took the innocence of her only child!"

"She's giving you this chance to change her mind, though, isn't she?" asked Wesley. "She could have simply forbidden Buffy from seeing you, but instead, she's cooking dinner for you. Personally, I think that's a rather good sign on its own."

"I hope you're right."

"Did Buffy tell you anything about her that could be helpful?"

Angel halted at the end of his invisible pacing track, thinking. "Not really, but I know she runs an art gallery in town." He resumed his pacing, but with a slightly more relaxed gait.

"Well, then, if things start to go poorly, go for common ground. You're an artist yourself, and you've been around through the times of most of the classic artists. I think it's safe to assume that it's the sort of thing that would tend to give you an edge."

[o]

Buffy spent the evening leading up to dinner hovering restlessly around her mother in the kitchen as she prepared lasagna and breadsticks. It was one of her favorite meals, but she was so nerve-wracked that the normally delicious smell was making her slightly queasy.

Finally, about half an hour after sunset and just when Joyce had finished setting the table with the special company plates, the doorbell rang. Buffy ran to answer it, but hadn't gone five steps when Joyce said firmly, "I'll get it, honey," and walked past her. It was then that Buffy realized that this was the first time Angel had been to her house since he returned, which meant that his invitation was still revoked from the previous year.

Buffy joined her mother in the entrance hall just as she was opening the door. "Good evening, Angel," said Joyce in a tone that was welcoming and forbidding in equal measure.

"Mrs. Summers," said Angel respectfully, before looking at Buffy and greeting her as well, his eyelids crinkling slightly in a barely visible affectionate smile. Buffy smiled back, though it was a tight, uncomfortable thing.

They all stood there for several increasingly awkward seconds before Joyce spoke again as if those seconds hadn't happened. "Well, the food's ready and the table's all set, so why don't you come in, and we'll get started." Buffy let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding in a sigh of relief as Angel nodded politely and crossed the threshold. Joyce closed the door behind him and led the way out of the entrance hall to the dining room, but the other two didn't immediately follow.

Momentarily free of Joyce Summers' scrutiny, Angel took the opportunity to look at Buffy properly for the first time since he'd arrived. She was wearing a knee-length periwinkle sundress with a pleated skirt, and her hair was pulled back in a partial ponytail. "You look beautiful," he said, his smile reaching the rest of his face now. Some of the nervousness drained from her features as her own smile became considerably more natural.

"You're not bad yourself," she said teasingly. Angel was dressed in a gray-blue button-up shirt and black slacks. As much as she loved his long black coat, she thought it had probably been a wise move on his part to dispense with it for this occasion. It would be crucial for him to appear as harmless and wholesome as possible, and that coat was a rather imposing article of clothing when worn by him.

Buffy slipped her left hand into his right and led him in the direction her mother had gone. Before they reached the dining room, he leaned closer and pressed a brief kiss to the side of her head. She responded by squeezing his hand, then let go and moved approximately two feet away from him and marched forward into the room, where Joyce was flitting around the table, checking unnecessarily that all of the cutlery was precisely in place.

Buffy took her usual seat at the end of the table and Joyce sat at the head, leaving Angel to sit on the side, which gave him the uncomfortable feeling that he was about to become the rope in a metaphorical game of tug-of-war.

Joyce served them all generous portions of steaming lasagna and passed the breadstick bowl around, and for a few minutes they ate in silence, with her watching them carefully. Though Angel put on a good show of enjoying the meal, all he could really taste was the ground beef in the lasagna, but even that was very faint, as any blood in it was completely cooked. The breadsticks he had no choice but to avoid—Joyce had forgotten to leave off the garlic powder.

"This is great, Mom," said Buffy, who seemed to have grown more comfortable now that her nervous butterflies were partially buried under two breadsticks and a large helping of lasagna. She shot Angel a pointed glance and cleared her throat.

"It's delicious," he agreed quickly in a warm, flattering voice. At the same time, unbidden into his mind came the memory of the time Darla had shoved an unconscious and bleeding Joyce into his arms—of how close he had come to giving in to temptation. He forced those thoughts away, hoping that they hadn't shown on his face.

"Thank you," said Joyce, who had clearly noticed nothing. "It's been one of Buffy's favorites since she was five."

They each ate a few more bites without speaking, until Joyce broke the silence, looking purposeful and calculating. "So, um, I guess you were never really Buffy's history tutor." Buffy coughed; a piece of her third breadstick had gone down the wrong tube at these words.

"No, not exactly," said Angel with an apologetic smile. "I mean, I _have_ helped her with her history work now and then."

"Because you know so much of it first-hand," said Joyce.

"A lot of it, yeah," said Angel.

Buffy didn't like where this was going. Her mom was obviously trying to emphasize Angel's age. She also didn't like how the conversation was progressing as if she wasn't in the room, but she couldn't seem to find her voice to do anything about that.

"And what do you do, since you're probably not really a student either?"

"I spend most of my time scoping out the town for any upcoming demonic threats, and I go with Buffy on a lot of her patrols."

"She tells me that she feels safest when you're patrolling with her," said Joyce, nodding. "That you can protect her better than anyone else."

"I'd give my life for her, Mrs. Summers," said Angel, turning to look at Buffy as he said it.

Joyce watched Angel closely for a moment, scrutinizing him for the smallest hint of insincerity for which to attack him. But, to her surprise, she found that not only was there nothing insincere about him, but she had never seen such a tender, loving expression in her life as the one he was currently giving her daughter.

Moving her gaze to Buffy, she saw the same expression mirrored on her face. This was no teenage crush; this was the real thing, and it caught Joyce completely off-guard. It was the kind of love she had long since resigned herself that she would never have, but which she had always hoped her daughter would find. Never would she have dreamed, however, that she would find it with a vampire.

In spite of herself, Joyce felt her opinion of Angel begin to rise. Whatever may have happened in the past, it was clear from the look on his face alone that all he wanted was to make Buffy happy no matter the cost to himself, and she couldn't hold that against him.

* * *

Holy crap, this one was hard to write. And yet I didn't have to resort to Angel and Joyce discussing art. Perhaps another time. Anyway, in canon, Joyce never really had an opportunity like this, to just watch Buffy and Angel interact, and I think it could have made a great deal of difference to her opinion of him. Also, even less canon-lifting than the last chapter! Happy day!


	38. Deus Ex Machinot

Hello again! My muse completely deserted me for this fic, and only yesterday did I manage to drag her back kicking and screaming. Of course, it didn't help that real life has been kind of a beast in recent weeks, but things have mostly settled down now. Anyway, there aren't a whole lot of chapters left, so hopefully real life and my muse will both behave until the end this time. *knocks on wood*

* * *

The rest of the dinner passed just as awkwardly, but Buffy thought—or maybe hoped—that it had gone well overall. At one point after a particularly long and nasty silence, she had mentioned that Angel was an artist. Joyce's interest was immediately piqued whether she wanted it to be or not, and some of her wariness leaked away during the course of the ensuing animated discussion about style and subject matter and eventually even art history. The fact that Angel had so much experience and sheer knowledge—much of it firsthand—about her professional field was clearly a very large plus, as far as she was concerned. Buffy struggled not to grin as the subject carried them all the way through dessert, delighted that she seemed to have found the elusive key to maternal approval. Then, after what had seemed like a lifetime, the torturous ordeal was over, and Angel departed.

Subconsciously holding her breath, Buffy made her way into the kitchen where her mother had started on the dishes. Too nervous to speak at first, she simply joined her in the task, carefully drying the plates and silverware and putting them back in their boxes to go downstairs until the next time they had company worthy of them.

"So, uh, what did you think of him?" she asked, feeling like her whole torso was vibrating with her anxiety. The sensation did not suit her lasagna-filled stomach well, and she felt a little sick.

"Well, I don't think I need to tell you that I had a lot of doubts," said Joyce. "I had a hard time believing he would be any different from the time I met him last year."

"Please tell me there's a 'but' coming," said Buffy, trying to sound light and teasing, but not quite managing it because of the way the plate she was drying shook in her hands. "Or even a 'however'," she babbled on. "Those are nice too. Everyone likes a good however every now and then…." She trailed off feebly at her mother's raised eyebrows, then went back to wiping the already dry plate with the dish towel.

"_However_," said Joyce, pronouncing the word with a slight chuckle, "I was very impressed by what I saw in Angel this evening."

"Really?" asked Buffy, the hope she had felt while watching Angel and her mom discussing the elements of French Impressionism that could still be seen in modern art rising within her.

"It's hard not to be impressed by a man who is obviously both willing and able to go to the ends of the earth for my daughter," said Joyce, still chuckling. Buffy beamed even as her cheeks reddened slightly. "So, um, judging from the looks you and he were sharing, I guess you two are pretty serious."

"Yeah," said Buffy. "We haven't talked about the future a whole lot, but I know he wants this to be for the long haul, and so do I." She decided not to add that, as a Slayer, the long haul for her would probably mean some time in her twenties.

"Are you_ sure_, Buffy?" asked Joyce seriously, trying not to let her alarm show on her face. Accepting that they loved each other at any level beyond teen infatuation was one thing. Accepting that they wanted to be together for the rest of—well, the rest of Buffy's life, anyway, was another matter entirely, and one she hadn't thought she'd need to be prepared for earlier than Buffy's second or third year of college at least.

"I'm sure," said Buffy softly, looking down at her Claddagh ring and thinking that she really ought to get Angel a new one to replace the one he'd lost in Hell.

"Does he make you happy?"

"More than anything," she said. Her heart filled with warmth.

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"_Mom!_" she said, her face turning a vibrant scarlet as the warm, happy bubble in her heart burst and sent all its heat flooding into her cheeks. That conversation had been excruciating enough the first time around. Her mother's expression was unrelenting, however, and also told Buffy that she knew the true answer already. "Yes," she said finally.

"Are you being careful?"

"That's not exactly an issue with him," she said, staring determinedly at the countertop, her face still very red.

"What do you mean?" asked Joyce, confused.

"Angel's a vampire, remember?" said Buffy quietly. "He can't give me a disease or get me pregnant."

"Oh," said Joyce. "Of course. Sorry, I guess some of these questions are pretty much knee-jerk."

Buffy was suddenly visited by a startlingly vivid mental image of a beautiful child whose features were the perfect blend between hers and Angel's. A child that would never exist. The image was gone as quickly as it had come, but it left an awful ache in its wake. "Was that the last plate?" she asked.

"Um, yep, I think so," said Joyce after a brief check of the sink's contents.

"I'll go put these away."

She walked slowly down to the basement, staring at the box in her hands without really seeing it. She was being ridiculous. This shouldn't be getting to her as much as it was. What kind of mother would she be, anyway? Constantly out fighting demons and vampires, risking her life on a nightly basis, and Angel in the same situation. What would happen the night one or both of them didn't come home? What if a demon attacked their home instead, and they weren't the ones who got killed? And it wasn't as if there weren't alternatives, if they actually did manage to get enough stability into their lives to be able to be parents. Infertile couples adopted children all the time. She put the box on its high shelf and went back to the stairs, trying to think about something else.

[o]

Having finished washing the rest of the dishes, Joyce pulled the plug at the bottom of the sink to let the soapy water drain. Then she turned and looked at Buffy, who had just reentered the kitchen. After a few seconds, Buffy pulled herself out of her reverie and met her gaze. Joyce's expression was deep and affectionate and seemed to carry all eighteen years of her motherhood behind it, but it was also laced with hints of humor and shrewdness. "I know this whole…," she paused, waving a hand vaguely as she cast around for a good phrase, "'Meet the Mom' thing was something you probably wish you'd never had to put Angel through." Buffy offered a weak, guilty smile. "But it means a lot to me that my eighteen-year-old superhero still cares enough about what I think to do something that scary of her own free will."

Joyce smiled—a tremulous, brittle thing—, then turned back to the sink and put her hands down on its edge for a long time before looking at Buffy again. "It's hard, sometimes, that when I look at you, I don't see a little girl anymore. You've become this beautiful, strong, brave, and responsible young woman. You face things I can't even imagine every other time you leave this house." Forgetting that her hands were still covered in sudsy water, she walked over and pulled her daughter into a hug. "Oh, Buffy, I'm so proud of you."

It was more than Buffy could handle at the moment, and soon she and her mother were both crying and holding each other. When they eventually pulled apart, they laughed upon catching sight of each other's tear-streaked faces, and then Buffy said that she'd better head off for patrol.

"Will Angel and Faith be with you out there?" asked Joyce anxiously.

"Probably just Angel tonight. Giles is still a little wiggy about letting Faith go on patrols. He mostly just wants her to focus on her double agent stuff for now."

"I guess that's reasonable. Now, go make the streets of Sunnydale safer."

Buffy grinned and saluted her, then practically skipped upstairs to her room to change out of her dress.

[o]

It only took about five seconds of being out of the house for Angel to appear at her side, seemingly out of nowhere, as usual. She almost laughed as she slipped her hand into his; he'd retrieved his coat from his apartment during the twenty minutes since she had last seen him. Meanwhile, he noticed the tear tracks on her cheeks and frowned. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"What?" she said, momentarily confused. "Oh! Yeah. Happy-slash-emotional tears. No worries. It looks like Mom almost completely approves of you. We ended up having 'the talk' again, which was less fun, but it was mostly all good."

"That's a relief," he said, his mild tone not doing nearly enough justice to how relieved he actually felt.

It wasn't until they reached the third cemetery that they ran into anything demonic, and even then it was only a couple of fledglings and one other vampire who might have been a few decades old at most. The fight didn't last long. Both fledglings were disoriented and sluggish in their movements, and the older one, most likely their sire, was simply no match for the likes of Buffy and Angel.

After dusting themselves off from that fight, they visited a couple more cemeteries just to reassure themselves that they weren't shirking their duty, but all of the tension left over from dinner and the recent fight meant that their minds were very much elsewhere. They barely made it into his apartment and got the door closed and locked behind them before they were kissing furiously and tugging at each other's clothing.

[o]

Much later, Angel lay awake, listening to the gentle sound of Buffy's even breathing and relaxed heartbeat.

"If you could have kids, would you want them?" she asked unexpectedly.

"Thought you were asleep," he said, chuckling. "What brought this on?"

"Just, something Mom and I talked about got me thinking…," she said, frowning at the finger she was tracing patterns with across his chest.

"Yes," he said firmly.

"You _would_ want kids?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm," he confirmed.

"Good," she said with a decisive nod of approval. Then she smiled. "I love you," she said, snuggling closer under the blankets and kissing him on the cheek.

* * *

Yay, more painfully awkward/heartwarming mother/daughter moments! And yes, Buffy and Angel are totally functional enough at the moment for all that "long haul" talk, as opposed to in canon season three. Hence happy end-of-chapter scene. Now then, as you may have already deduced from certain parts of the dialogue in the chapter, the title was a very deliberate play on the phrase "Deus Ex Machina", which, as you can see, I do actually know how to spell properly. Plays on words are fun, but plays on *Latin* words are ten times better. *Nerd pride*. Okay, I'm going to go away now...


	39. Come to the Dark Side: We Have Cookies!

Hi, guys! I've actually been responsible lately and put work and school before fanfiction. While that hopefully will prove a good thing for my grades and paycheck, it obviously also means that I can't guarantee regular updates. However, since I also had Writer's Block and a lazy muse stopping me from working on this particular _chapter_, "irregular updates" might just mean "every few days" from now on. But I can't make any promises.

* * *

"So, how'd it go with Angel and your mom?" asked Willow tentatively as she opened her locker and began to search for a new pencil, as her old one was now embedded several inches into a tree on the grounds. So much for emotional control. Then again, no one could blame her for feeling a little distress about Faith, could they? The girl was a living reminder that Willow didn't mean as much to her best friends as she thought she did. Okay, so maybe that was an overreaction. But Faith _had_ tried to kill Xander, even if she was back on their side now…

"A lot better than I thought it would," said Buffy brightly, effectively disrupting Willow's unpleasant thoughts.

"Really?" she said, dropping the cautious, ready-to-be-consoling expression at once and replacing it with a smile to match Buffy's.

"Yeah," said Buffy. "She likes that he's got my back on patrols, and he proved that he wasn't just taking advantage of me and my teenage hormones or something, but I think the real reason is that he knows about art."

Willow giggled and nodded. "Parents only think a guy has 'a good head on his shoulders' if he's interested in and knowledgeable about what they do for a living."

Buffy winced sympathetically. "What does that mean for Oz?" she asked.

Willow shrugged. "Mom and Dad still get a little funny whenever they remember that he's a musician, but when he came over for dinner, he played it just as cool as he always does." Her expression became dreamy and she lost her train of thought for a second, until Buffy gave her a playful nudge in the ribs. "Oh! Sorry. Uh…," she frowned, trying to remember what she had been talking about, while Buffy fought to hold in her giggles.

"Oh yeah! So now they mostly think of him as a 'nice, thoughtful, intelligent young man'," Willow went on at last, imitating her father's deep, stern voice for the last five words. "I guess it's good they haven't seen him since then, or they might notice the hair color thing—and he wasn't wearing his earring and his nails weren't black then either." She trailed off, looking faintly worried, and Buffy laughed.

"And they probably don't know he's a werewolf, right?" she asked, grinning as she retrieved the textbook she needed from her locker, closed it, and leaned on the door.

"Nope," said Willow. "They're still doing the selective memory thing, so that's one less thing to worry about."

"That's nice," said Buffy. "I'm glad my mom knows, though. Now, instead of thinking I'm some kind of budding delinquent who sneaks out at night and doesn't get the best grades like she thought ever since I was called, she's proud of me, even though she worries. She told me that last night after Angel left."

"Aw, that's so great, Buffy!"

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "Mom-validation is pretty awesome. Especially when followed by some good old fashioned violent triumph over evil and then lots of quality boyfriend time." Willow beamed while Buffy gave an exaggerated sigh of contentment, which culminated in more giggling.

"What are you lovely ladies laughing about?" came Xander's voice from over their shoulders. "We've got Math next," he said gravely. "This is no time to be laughing."

The two girls exchanged glances and promptly lapsed into renewed fits of giggles.

[o]

Despite Xander's pronouncements of doom, they survived Math, as well as all of the classes that followed, and shortly after sunset, they found themselves gathered in the library, where Faith updated them on the mayor's movements.

Faith didn't know why everyone had to be present for this, but she didn't like it. She would much rather have simply told Giles or Wesley—or, better yet, Angel, who, of the entire group, was the only one she fully believed when he said he understood her and cared what happened to her. There was nothing openly hostile about any of the others, though, but they still had a way of making her feel like an outsider.

Giles watched her a little too carefully whenever he was in the same room with her. Cordelia was always too busy sneaking flirtatious glances at Wesley to even listen to her, let alone make her opinion of her known to the library at large, as she might otherwise have done. Wesley was so preoccupied with attempting not to appear pleased by Cordelia's interest that he frequently had to ask Faith to repeat something she'd said. Xander tried to appear pensive and deep, but succeeded only in looking wary, except when he cast resentful and suspicious glares at Wesley and Cordelia. Willow rested her head on Oz's shoulder and idly played with the sleeve of his jacket. A few feet away from them, Buffy was sitting in Angel's lap, leaning back against his chest with their hands entwined on her stomach. Even though both of them were listening carefully to everything Faith said (unlike most of the others), they remained relaxed and unfazed the entire time, and occasionally a small smile would appear on one of their faces.

Altogether, it was almost enough to make Faith want to hurl. But she was a loner anyway, so why should any of it bother her? And this was her big, shining moment, right? She was the one with the big assignment to bring down the bad guy from the inside. She didn't need any of them.

[o]

The next afternoon, Faith arrived at the library with Wesley, where she found Willow determinedly working at the computer behind the checkout counter. Faith immediately hopped up on the counter and peered at the screen, but she had very little experience with computers and consequently had no idea what Willow was doing. Even so, this was better than standing around, which would undoubtedly invite the attention and questions of Giles, for both of which she really wasn't in the mood.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Giles," said Wesley, who was still thoroughly out of breath from the training session.

"How did it go?" he asked.

"Faith did quite well on the obstacle course," panted Wesley. From her perch on the counter, Faith smirked. Noticing this, Wesley couldn't help but add, "still a little sloppy, though." Faith's eyes flashed indignantly in his direction, and he edged away from her, looking apprehensive. "Where's Buffy?" he asked in a completely transparent attempt to change the subject.

"Training with Angel," said Giles dully. "And do feel free to interpret that in the most figurative way you can, as it would probably be more accurate."

"Ah," said Wesley awkwardly.

"Yes, well," said Giles. "I've just made up a fresh pot of tea, and you look like you could do with some."

"Oh," said Wesley, caught off-guard at receiving such a friendly offer from the older Watcher. "Yes, I could, actually. Thank you." With that, the two of them went into the office, leaving Faith and Willow alone.

"Whatcha doin'?" asked Faith curiously after about a minute's silence punctuated only by the gentle tapping of Willow's fingers on the keyboard and the indistinct sounds of Giles's and Wesley's voices.

"I'm trying to access the mayor's personal files," said Willow vaguely, a slight crease appearing on her forehead.

Faith raised her eyebrows. "Can you do that?" she asked, impressed.

"Well, he's got some tricky barriers set up," said Willow.

"Can you get past them?" asked Faith.

"Eventually I'll get through," said Willow, an unmistakable note of smugness in her voice.

Faith continued to watch. "Hey, why do you need to do this anyway?" she said after a while, frowning. "I see the Mayor every day."

Willow shrugged, not taking her eyes off the screen. "Giles asked me to. The mayor is really bad news, and Giles wants us going at him from as many angles as we can."

"Yeah," said Faith. "I guess." But her frown didn't go away.

[o]

"No peeking, now, young lady," Mayor Richard Wilkins III admonished sternly. Faith couldn't stop herself from giving him an annoyed look before she closed her eyes. No matter how much time she spent around this guy, she couldn't get used to how weirdly wholesome he was. An advantage of this was that it made it easy for her to play her part. She could be as surly or reluctant as she wanted without him ever acting even remotely suspicious of her.

After making sure Faith's eyes were closed, the mayor beamed in giddy delight and opened the door in front of which they had been standing. "Walk forward a few steps now…there you go…now, stop. Open your eyes."

Faith did so, and her jaw immediately dropped. She was standing in what was probably the nicest apartment she had ever been in. There was a big, squashy-looking bed with spotless, brand-new covers, a huge TV that probably got a few hundred channels, and big arched windows that made the place feel even more spacious than it really was. Despite all this, it still wasn't busy or cluttered with too much stuff, which she liked. "Whoa," she said. "Boss, this isn't—is this for me?"

"Of course it's for you!" he said, waving off her shock with an airy hand and grinning broadly. "You've earned it! A guy like me can't strike fear in the heart of his competition without a bona fide Slayer at his side, can he? I don't know why I ever settled for using vampires."

"I guess," said Faith, who, despite her confidence in her own abilities, was still amazed by how much he actually trusted and valued her after such a short time. And yet Giles still thought it wasn't enough.

It was lucky that she was looking around at the apartment and had her back to the mayor so that he couldn't see the heavy scowl that suddenly crossed her face. Realizing that it was there, she quickly forced it away before she turned back to face him.

"Willow's been trying to hack into your files," she said abruptly.

"Willow Rosenberg, upcoming valedictorian of this year's senior class?" he asked in surprise. Her name had been appearing in the newspaper honor roll for the past decade, and he'd heard her mentioned proudly by Bob Flutie before his unfortunate demise and, more impressively, by the much more difficult to impress Snyder.

"Yeah," said Faith, feeling a small twinge of uneasiness for this betrayal. But she'd hold off on the full-blown guilt until Buffy and Co. got her a place as cool as this, she rationalized spitefully. "She's one of Buffy's friends. I don't think she's found anything yet."

"Well, that's very interesting," said the mayor thoughtfully.

* * *

Here we go with alternate "Doppelgängland". The chapter title pretty much sums up anything I would say in the commentary. Except that Wesley is awesome.


	40. Resolve Face

Faith felt agitated, and not even her evil-funded Playstation could distract her from it. The closer the sun dipped towards the horizon, the worse it became. Finally, she couldn't take it any longer. Standing abruptly, she tossed the controller aside and left her expensive new studio apartment.

Willow's house wasn't hard to find. Willow didn't often accompany Faith on patrol; usually she and Xander stuck with Buffy while Faith did her own thing, but there had been the occasional night when Faith joined the group, so she'd been to Willow's neighborhood once or twice, and knew which one of the houses was hers.

Having reached the front door, Faith raised a hand to knock. After a moment's hesitation, she rapped her knuckles sharply against the smooth surface, then stepped back and waited. A few seconds later, the door was opened by an auburn-haired woman whose mouth looked like it was stuck in a permanent frown. Willow's mom, Faith guessed. "Hello?" she asked, her frown deepening as she regarded Faith with a critical eye.

"Uh, hi," said Faith, shoving her hands deeply into her pockets and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Mrs., uh, Rosenberg, right? Is Willow home?"

"Who are you?" asked Mrs. Rosenberg with a tight smile that wasn't any more encouraging than the frown.

"I'm Faith."

"Do you know Willow from school?"

"Uh, yeah." The truth wouldn't work here anyway, thought Faith, and school was an easy enough lie. "I need to talk to Willow about this project we've got."

Mrs. Rosenberg's gaze lingered on Faith for a few more uncomfortable seconds before she moved farther inside the house.

[o]

"Willow, dear, one of your friends from school is here to see you," Willow heard her mom call from downstairs. A friend from school? Friends from school never just showed up at her house. Buffy and Xander usually called beforehand, and the only other school friend she really had was Amy, who was currently preoccupied with losing her latest race against gravity on the wheel in her cage. Could it be Percy, coming to dump the homework for the rest of his classes on her for good measure? That was probably it. After all, she was "Old Reliable", she thought grumpily.

"Okay, I'm coming," she shouted back. With a heavy sigh of reluctance, she got up from her textbook-strewn bed and walked to her bedroom door. Unable to force a smile at the prospect of yet more academic indentured servitude, she dragged her feet on the way down the stairs and towards the front of the house with an upset grimace etched across her features. This expression turned instantly to one of complete surprise, however, the moment she caught sight of her visitor. "Faith?" she blurted incredulously. "What are you doing here?" Her mother looked quizzically from one girl to the other.

"I thought we could work on that project," said Faith pointedly. "For _school_," she added, when Willow only stared with her mouth open.

"O-oh," said Willow a couple of seconds late. "Yeah, we should do that. Mom, we'll just, uh, be in my room."

"All right," said Sheila, looking marginally less forbidding now that Faith's story had checked out. "Will you be staying for dinner?" she asked as Willow turned and Faith moved inside to follow her to her room.

Faith looked around, exchanging a glance with Willow as she did so. "Oh, um, no thanks. I don't think it'll take that long." Sheila nodded and closed the front door, and Willow led Faith upstairs.

Once they were in her room with the door shut behind them, Willow rounded on Faith, her shock once again written across her face. "Okay, there obviously isn't a project," she said. "So, what are you doing here?" She tried to sound as non-confrontational as possible; no matter what issues she had with her, Faith was a Slayer, and it probably wouldn't be wise to get in her face, especially considering the events of the past month.

"It's just, um," said Faith, who was finding this much more awkward than she had anticipated. "The Mayor."

"What about him?" asked Willow, confused and apprehensive.

"He knows you've been trying to hack into his files."

"What? How? Did he tell you that?"

"I don't—know how he found out," said Faith. This lie had come out with a little more difficulty than the one about the nonexistent school project, but she disregarded it. She was here to make sure nothing worse happened. As long as she could pull that off, Willow didn't need to find out that she was the one who had ratted her out to the Mayor. "Point is, he knows."

"I-is that a bad thing?" asked Willow. She wasn't used to being one-on-one with Faith—those few minutes in the library earlier that day had hardly counted—, and she wasn't sure how to handle it. Normally, she was quietly the in the background while Faith drew all of the attention of everyone else around, whether it was for good or bad reasons. But now Faith was here, and somehow she was managing to make Willow feel like she didn't have the home field advantage in her own bedroom.

"He ordered a vampire attack on you," said Faith. "So I'd say it's pretty bad."

Willow's eyes widened, and she sank unsteadily onto her desk chair. "What am I gonna do?" she asked. This was insane. It had never been her before. The bad guys were always trying to end the world or cause general chaos. Buffy, Angel, and Faith were the ones who fought them, sometimes with help from her and the others. The whole Malcolm/Moloch incident aside, this was the first time she, shy little wallflower Willow Rosenberg, was being targeted specifically. After sunset, vampires would be _sent_ to attack _her_. The fear was almost paralyzing her already, and it wasn't even dark yet.

"Just, stay inside tonight," said Faith. "I'll hang around and take care of any vamps that come this way." She punched her right fist into her left palm in a businesslike fashion.

"Shouldn't we tell Buffy and Giles?" said Willow in a slightly higher voice than usual.

Faith shook her head. "If they know, it could get back to the Mayor, and it might blow my cover. We can't risk it."

Willow's eyes widened, and a little of her fear left her as something clicked together in her mind. "Those must be some important files, for the Mayor to go to this much trouble to try and make sure I don't get to them," she said.

"You're not seriously still thinking of hacking into them," said Faith in disbelief.

"Why would he want me dead unless there was something in there he wanted to hide?" said Willow, growing more and more excited. "Just like the deputy mayor's files. Buffy said they were all gone when you guys got to them. It's got to be the same stuff in his computer files. Maybe more. I've got to get in!" She faltered, staring at Faith. "What's wrong?" she asked, for the other girl's expression seemed to have darkened.

"Nothing," said Faith quickly. "You're right. It's just—be careful."

"I will," said Willow emphatically.

"Good," said Faith. She moved towards the door. "I'll be around. Holler if you see any vamps outside."

"Okay," said Willow.

Faith pulled the door open and stepped out.

"Wait!" cried Willow. Faith looked around at her from the hall. "Thanks."

"Yeah," said Faith grudgingly. "No problem."

[o]

Night fell, and Willow was still trying to concentrate on homework, but whether it was her own homework or that of a certain lazy, arrogant basketball player before her, she couldn't get herself to focus on it—not even when she thought of the wrath she would incur in Principal Snyder if he decided she wasn't trying hard enough to help Percy pass his history class.

She was just too curious about what the Mayor was hiding in those files. She was convinced that whatever it was had to be of vital importance. It just wouldn't make sense otherwise. And if the Mayor was trying to have her killed, he probably wasn't planning to delete his files like he had gotten rid of the deputy mayor's. At least, not until the attempt to have her killed failed (and she refused to consider the possibility that it would succeed). Deleting the files was probably Plan B, which meant that she needed to get to them as soon as possible.

All in all, Willow was practically itching to get back to her hacking, but her laptop was currently at the store getting a couple of broken pixels in the screen fixed. Her parents' computer was off-limits, and it was probably too old to handle the tasks she would need it for anyway. That left the computer in the library.

She walked to the window and nervously pulled the curtains aside to look at the dark street. For one heart-stopping second, she thought she saw a something lurking in the bushes next to the fence, but then it moved, and she realized that it was only the next-door neighbor's dog, which had been using their backyard as its hiding place for everything from dead rodents to small toys it had taken from other neighbors' yards for the past six years.

Willow watched small clods of dirt fly into the air as the dog dug the hole where its next chewed-up treasure would be laid to rest. She bit her lip. The school was only a couple of blocks away. On her bike, she could get there within minutes. Giles was sure to be there, and Faith had the neighborhood covered. Was that enough for her to risk making the trip?

Suddenly, her famous resolve face surfaced. This was her chance to prove that she really wasn't just some doormat person, but a force to be reckoned with. She was going to go to the library, and she was going to access the Mayor's files.

[o]

Resolve face notwithstanding, the journey to the school was an extremely nerve-wracking experience. Willow wondered if Faith had been busy fighting a vampire at the other end of the street or something when she left, because she didn't see her anywhere. Walking into the school building, she felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Even after everything that had happened in this place, it was still comforting to be inside the familiar institution of learning.

When Willow entered the library at last, she was surprised to see not only Giles, but Buffy and Xander there as well. "Hey," she said cheerfully. They all looked up at her from where they sat together on the short flight of steps leading to the bookshelves. "What's going on?" she asked.

Only then did she register their stricken expressions. "Gee, who died?" she said dryly, trying to lighten the mood. When her words had no effect whatsoever, except perhaps to make them look fearful as well as devastated, all of her plans for a late-night hacking session were forgotten. "Oh, God, who died?"

* * *

So, basically, the canon episode has been going on "offscreen" from this chapter, which means that Vamp Willow is currently at the Bronze with all of those vampires the Mayor sent after our Willow, thus making the big scare she and Faith had about getting vamp attacked was pretty much for nothing. But, of course, neither of them would have had any way of knowing that, and here in that last bit, my version intersects with canon, so it seemed like a good place to leave off.


	41. Men in Combat

Holy crap, the third update in a week!

* * *

In the kitchen of his small apartment, Wesley frowned unhappily at his teapot, which he had just filled with water and placed on the stove. Considering that he had managed to save Cordelia's life and had then spent a not-entirely-awkward half hour with her at the Espresso Pump (which, of course, had _not_ been a date, because that would be inappropriate), he had very good reason to be jumping up and down in glee, and possibly singing.

Instead, all he could think about was how spectacularly he had failed to put up an actual fight. Everything he had learned in his training sessions with Angel seemed to have fled his mind when he confronted the vampire, and he had been reduced to brandishing a cross and a bottle of holy water at her with trembling hands.

To make matters worse, the vampire in question had been his Slayer's best friend less than a day ago. Was there something he could have done to prevent this terrible thing? Perhaps if he had discouraged Buffy from including her friends so much in her slaying, the poor girl would never have been placed in harm's way. He hadn't interacted with Willow to any great extent, but what little time he had spent in her company had been sufficient to make him like her very much. She was sweet, unassuming, extremely bright, and fiercely loyal—or, at least, she had been. Now that girl was gone, and a demon had taken her place.

Something would have to be done, and soon. Wesley didn't know how Buffy would handle the news, but he would have to tell her as quickly as possible. Would she be able to eliminate the creature with the face of her friend? Would she hate him if he did it for her to spare her the pain, or would she prefer that to having to endure something similar to when Angelus had been loose in Sunnydale?

But would he even be able to do it, though, or would he simply become her first victim from within the Slayer's inner circle? His performance against her that evening suggested that the latter would be far more likely. Some Watcher he was turning out to be.

Wesley could practically hear his father's rebuking voice in his mind as he allowed these miserable thoughts to consume him. Cold, distant, and perpetually dissatisfied, Roger Wyndam-Pryce had never done much to improve his son's self-confidence. Whenever Wesley failed to overlook his own shortcomings, they bore heavily down upon him thanks to all those years of having them pointed out to him at length by that man.

Of course, Wesley thought, if his father really knew what was going on in Sunnydale, he would be more likely to disown him than to innumerate his faults in typical fashion. After all, Wesley's best friend was a vampire (and a particularly infamous one at that), he had gone to great lengths to improve the existence of the aforementioned vampire and was merrily allowing him to pursue a very serious romantic relationship with one of the Slayers in his charge, and he had been going behind the Council's back for months. His father might actually have a heart attack before he would be able to get around to the business of disowning him if he found out about any of this, but that was hardly a silver lining.

Wesley wasn't looking for paternal approval, though. He knew that, on these matters, at least, he was firmly in the right. He had no regrets about his friendship with Angel or his efforts to protect him from the Council. But now, if only these convictions could manifest as something that would help him in a fight.

[o]

After brooding over his cup of tea (which was cold by the time he actually got around to drinking it), Wesley prepared to set off for the library to address the problem of Willow. Acting on his deeply rooted belief that one could never be _too_ prepared, he geared up with the same cross and bottle of holy water he had threatened Willow with before, as well as a crossbow, a few stakes, and a second cross even larger than the first, which he hung around his neck. He would've taken more, but it would have become too cumbersome, and there was already a fairly impressive arsenal at the library.

When he got there, he was alarmed to find Buffy, Angel, Mr. Giles, that extremely pensive boy who kept changing his hair color, and Xander all milling about, apparently unaware that the girl in their midst, who appeared to be busily working on the computer, was a demon. He felt a small twinge of disappointment that Cordelia was absent, but quickly banished it, for it was hardly relevant to the very serious matter at hand.

"Hey, Wes," said Angel, noticing his presence first. The others looked around and made various signs of acknowledgement, Buffy's being the warmest after Angel's. Willow looked up from the computer and gave a cheery little wave.

Wesley eyed her with deep apprehension, then shot Angel a significant look and jerked his head in the direction of the hall from which he had just come. Angel stood at once and followed him out, Buffy casting a curious glance after them as they left the library.

"What's up?" asked Angel in concern once Wesley had stopped and turned to face him. He noticed with some discomfort the large cross Wesley was wearing, and he raised his eyebrows at the stakes protruding from Wesley's pockets and the crossbow in his hands.

"Are you honestly unaware that there is a vampire in that library?" said Wesley incredulously. He knew Angel had much keener senses than any of the rest of them, and could not therefore understand how he had apparently failed to notice anything different about Willow.

"I was the only vampire in that library," said Angel, bemused.

"Most unfortunately, that is not the case," said Wesley, his frustration beginning to show. "I was here earlier tonight and was just able to rescue Miss Chase from Willow."

"Oh," said Angel, and he chuckled as comprehension dawned. Wesley looked highly affronted by this reaction, and opened his mouth to protest, but Angel didn't give him the chance. "You're a little late to the game, Wes," he said, still chuckling. "The Willow you saw wasn't the one who's in the library right now."

"What? What are you talking about?" said Wesley in bewilderment.

"Well, pretty much, an ex-vengeance demon tried to resort to witchcraft to get her powers back, and instead we got the Willow from an alternate dimension. She was the vampire. We sent her back about an hour ago."

"Ah," said Wesley. It took a moment for him to fully process this very odd explanation. Once he succeeded, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "So, er, _this_ Willow, I suppose, is still all right, then?"

"She's all right," said Angel. "She's still working on getting into the Mayor's files."

Wesley let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, good," he said. "I've been fretting about how to break the news to Buffy that her dearest friend had been turned. It's been dreadful."

"Yeah," said Angel. He looked past Wesley in an unfocused sort of way, the memory of stalking Jenny Calendar down this very hall suddenly flashing across his mind. His gaze was caught again by the cross Wesley wore, and he couldn't look away. "Last spring was hard enough on Buffy—on all of them." His head lowered an inch or two, casting his features into shadow.

Wesley watched him carefully and felt a terrible pang of sympathy. He could practically see the waves of guilt and anguish emanating from him.

"They don't need to go through that again," said Angel quietly, still staring at the cross as though hypnotized. "Especially not with someone like Willow." He remembered what Angelus's plans had been before they changed with the unearthing of Acathla. Willow was to be one of the ones he would have turned. He would have drawn it out like he had done with Drusilla, to give Buffy a preview of what would happen to her. His eyes closed and his brow furrowed against the familiar onslaught of the past.

"Angel," said Wesley a little more loudly than normal conversational volume. Angel's head snapped up again, and his eyes focused back on the Watcher's face. "That wasn't you," he said firmly. He half expected Angel to contradict him. He had done it before, more than once. Now, however, he said nothing, but he looked as though he desperately wished for the power to agree. "And it never will be again," Wesley went on.

A silence stretched between them, but eventually Angel broke it, appearing to emerge as he did so from whatever dark place his mind had wandered to. "Let's go back," he said, nodding back up the hall towards the library doors.

"Wait!" said Wesley suddenly. Angel looked inquiringly at him. "The training sessions," he said, his shoulders drooping slightly. "I'm not sure they're doing the trick."

"What makes you say that?" asked Angel, frowning. "It's not a short process, Wes. You're already a lot better than you were, but you can't expect to become a proficient fighter after just a few weeks."

"Can't I at least expect to be able to duplicate my performance during training when in actual combat, though?"

"In time, yeah." Wesley looked slightly put out, so Angel went on, "Sparring is completely different from a real fight because fear isn't a factor. Sparring is safe, controlled. A real fight is not. Once you learn how to push past the fear, instinct and reflex can take over, and that's where sparring and training come in."

"I suppose," said Wesley, though he didn't seem altogether reassured.

Without warning, Angel aimed a punch at Wesley's head. Wesley let out a cry of alarm, but blocked the blow automatically by sweeping Angel's fist aside with his right forearm. "Have you lost your mind?" he demanded angrily.

"No," said Angel, grinning. "I was testing your reflexes. You passed." He shrugged. "Looks like the training sessions _have_ been doing the trick." He turned and walked back into the library, smirking.

Wesley's face lit up in delight, but he forced it back into a serious expression and cleared his throat, though there was still something of a swagger in his step when he followed Angel through the swinging doors.

* * *

Got the title from Wesley's line in canon after he saved Cordelia from Vamp Willow. *snicker* I couldn't figure out a way to include his silly little "grrr" thing, though, alas. Huh. I like doing these character study type chapters when there's nothing much to change in the canon plot. Especially when the characters for study are my two favorite characters in the Buffyverse. Heee. Also, it's interesting to think how differently Wesley and Liam reacted to paternal disappointment. I hadn't really thought about that before I wrote this chapter. Anyway, I'm going to try to give "Season 9" some attention now, though it would be sort of nice to just plow through to the end with this one. *shrug* I guess it's up to my muse.


	42. With Friends Like These

It's the meaning of life chapter! Woohoo!

* * *

Going to the theater was supposed to be a nice, normal, fun date. In the end, though, it would have been about the same if they had gone to the park, except that going to the park would have saved Angel a few dollars. He and Buffy had spent so much of the movie making out in the back row that they couldn't even remember what the main character had looked like, let alone what had been going on in the story. Not that either of them was complaining—quite the contrary. Buffy and Angel left the theater arm in arm, Buffy leaning her head against Angel's shoulder, a dreamy, contented smile on her face. "Thanks for bringing me here," she said.

"We didn't even watch the movie, Buffy," said Angel, amused.

"Yeah, and with a title like that, I'm sure we missed the next winner of the Academy Award for Best Picture," said Buffy dryly. The contented smile came back. "I had a good time."

"Me too," he said, stopping and turning to face her.

"Think I could get a recap?" asked Buffy innocently.

Angel flashed her a fleeting grin before encircling her in his embrace and capturing her lips with his. She stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck as she returned the kiss, which, despite their closeness, remained slow and tender.

[o]

Faith strolled up the road with her hands deep in her pockets, scowling at the pavement. She was sick of this. Sick of watching Buffy be everyone's favorite Slayer, even though she was the one putting herself at greater risk every day. But, then again, the time she spent with the Mayor, trying to learn things about his plans that might be used against him, no longer felt like much of a risk. In fact, the way he treated her, it was almost like he'd adopted her. The apartment he gave her, the little treats he had for her in his office whenever she met him there, the delighted, proud smile he reserved just for her. Not even her mother had treated her that way. For the first time, she had someone who adored her, showered her with amazing gifts, and rewarded her even more for everything she did for him, no matter how small. When she was around him, she felt safe. Loved, even.

And how were Buffy and the rest measuring up? She was glad she'd prevented anything bad from happening to Willow, but she wasn't getting any credit for it. Even though they were supposed to be the good guys, all Faith got from them, no matter what she did, were halfhearted attempts at friendliness. She didn't even get that much from Wesley and Giles, who were always stern and bossy. Her information had led Buffy and Angel to the lairs of many of the Mayor's vampire minions in recent weeks, but she hadn't been allowed to go with them—though that, at least, would change tonight. Finally, after over a month and a half since the thing with the deputy mayor, Wesley and Giles had decided that she could start patrolling again—but only if Buffy or Angel came along too. And that would be five by five with Faith—if Angel was the one she actually got to patrol with, but there was no way her luck would be that good.

Despite her initial wariness of him, Faith liked Angel. He was the only one who didn't try to act like he was her probation officer or something. He was always supportive and encouraging, and whenever one of B's little Scooby gang started to say something less than pleasant to her, he glared them down until they changed the subject. And boy, was he a hottie! What wouldn't she give to have her way with that body. Centuries of experience, super strength, the thrill of danger…

Faith's increasingly lewd musings were interrupted when she spotted the very people she'd been sent to find. Jealous anger leapt like a flame inside her at the sight of Buffy and Angel locked in a deep, meaningful embrace that looked like it was going to go on forever. What could a goodie-goodie like B possibly offer him that she couldn't? He didn't know what he was missing. Well, she'd just have to show him, then, she thought wickedly.

"Check out the lust bunnies," she said loudly. It took them a couple of seconds to stop kissing, and then a few more to pull away from each other enough to look at her. Both of them were wearing revoltingly love-struck smiles, and their eyes were unfocused. They didn't look embarrassed at all at her interruption.

"Patrol?" asked Buffy breathlessly.

Faith nodded.

"Wes and Giles want you back on active duty?" asked Angel. Faith was pleased that he didn't sound breathless, but then she remembered that he didn't need to breathe anyway, and she suppressed a scowl.

"Finally," she said impatiently. "They want us down by Mercer."

"Okay," said Buffy. She looked inquiringly up at Angel, who shook his head. Faith rolled her eyes at the silent exchange.

"I've got another training session with Wes," said Angel.

Buffy nodded. "Goodnight," she said softly.

"I'll see you soon."

Buffy drifted towards Faith, her eyes still locked with Angel's and her hand still in his. Faith took her by the other arm and pulled her away. "Don't worry, big guy," she said, winking suggestively at him. "Just keeping her warm for you."

[o]

"Gotta tell you, B, the willpower thing? Nice job," said Faith as they navigated their way between graves.

"Thanks," said Buffy vaguely, too lost in blissful memories of the evening she'd just spent with Angel to really pay attention to Faith's words. She hoped this wouldn't be the only time he tried for the "normal date" angle. Not that it had been any better than last week's date when they had practiced tai chi together at his apartment and he had recited some of the poems in _Sonnets from the Portuguese_ to her from memory, but there was just something so adorable about him awkwardly trying to do what any other boyfriend might do.

The fact that Faith had spoken finally registered in her mind, and she came back to the present. "Huh?"

"The close but no cigar deal with Angel," said Faith. "I dunno if I could handle, you know, the way you're…not handling it."

For a second, Buffy was confused, but then she remembered that Faith didn't know that Angel's curse was different now. She wasn't sure why she didn't just correct Faith's false impression. Well, okay, maybe she was. It wasn't that she didn't trust Faith, even if she was a little shaky in that regard; she just knew that Faith would make what she shared with Angel seem less than it was. Base, carnal, and lust-driven. While those elements were certainly present, they were far from being the driving force behind the relationship. That was love—the powerful, aching kind that filled the chest until it overflowed into the soul. It wasn't selfish or demanding, and even more than the physical aspect, it was simply too precious and intimate for Buffy to want to attempt explaining it to Faith.

"Faith," she said, "when it comes to Angel, do me a favor—" Before she could finish her sentence, a demon appeared over Faith's shoulder. "—Duck!" Faith dove out of the way, and Buffy decked the demon hard across the face. To the surprise of both Slayers, the demon had been looking for them so that he could sell them some books. Books, moreover, that potentially contained a lot of information that the Mayor would not want them to have. After the demon skedaddled, Buffy and Faith continued their patrol.

A couple of hours later, they called it a night. Buffy went home and Faith headed for her apartment. She was about halfway there when she abruptly turned around, walking in the direction of City Hall instead. She didn't like the thought of what might happen to the Mayor if Giles got his hands on these Books of Ascension. With the information from them, what would he and the others do to the man who had done so much for her? Definitely nothing good, Faith thought. Besides, she owed him—she owed him way more than she owed anyone on Buffy's team. She'd worry about thwarting his plans later. Maybe there could even be a way to do that without killing him. Yeah, that was it. She couldn't just let Buffy go all capital punishment on him if there was another way. With that, she went a little faster.

[o]

Faith sat in the chair in front of the Mayor's desk, grudgingly drinking the glass of milk he'd just offered her. The Mayor, meanwhile, was leaning on the edge of the desk, looking thoughtful. "You know," he began.

"What?" said Faith before he could elaborate.

"Getting the books would be great, but I think we can do one better," he said.

"What do you mean?" asked Faith warily. If he was about to ask her to off one of Buffy's friends…well, she didn't owe him _that_ much.

"It just seems to me as if that Buffy Summers has a little more help than I'd like. Now, friends are important for everyone, but I don't see why my enemies should have such a well-developed support system."

Faith didn't like the sound of that at all, but she remained silent. The Mayor moved away from his desk and began to pace.

"Of course," he said, holding up a hand, "if we make the wrong move, she'll just be that much more determined to stop me. Revenge can be a powerful motivator." Having reached the far end of the room, he turned and walked back. "But that's not our only option, and if this goes according to plan, we'll get another ally out of the bargain—one that Buffy will have a hard time fighting. Hopefully, she might even be so distracted that I can carry out my other plans without having to worry about her at all!" He chuckled, looking at Faith and grinning broadly at her.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked, feeling both apprehensive and curious.

His expression became serious again. "Tell me, how much do you know about that Angel fellow?"

* * *

Okay, so, more alternate/behind the scenes stuff here, now for "Enemies". I skipped that whole part with Faith actually telling the Mayor about the books, since canon covered that. What canon didn't cover, however, was when the Mayor decided to try to use Faith to get Angel to lose his soul. Also, I thought it would be fun to shake up that opening scene by having Buffy and Angel be so preoccupied with each other (since they are actually allowed to do that, unlike in canon) that they failed to notice that the movie they were supposedly watching was rather inappropriate and not actually about food.


	43. Foolish Assumptions

I am seriously considering chaining my muse to my laptop so she can't take off on me again. Could be tricky, though. She's married to my poltergeist, and he could make things difficult if I resort to drastic measures with her.

Now, then, where were we before freakishly long essays and unruly muses so rudely interrupted? Ah, yes. Alternate "Enemies", and the Mayor just told Faith about his plans for Angel. Now fast forward until after she's killed the horned, bald demon bloke.

* * *

Faith felt strange. Dazed. She wanted to wash the blood off her hands—wanted to scrub until the skin was raw and red, but she couldn't. Not yet. It was part of the plan she'd worked out. But then, did she really want to wash it off? At a second glance, the sight of it made her feel powerful. It was proof that she had been stronger than her opponent. And what did it matter, anyway? It was just demon blood. Killing demons was what she was born to do, so that's what she had done. What difference did it make whose orders she did it on? And why was she even thinking about that now? She was about to do what she'd wanted to do for months. Angel. Never had she been more willing to follow orders. Sure, the point was to get him to lose his soul, but she was more than a little curious about meeting Angelus. Somehow, she thought he'd be a lot less preachy and a lot more fun. And she'd be able to take Saint Buffy down a few pegs while she was at it. Steal her man and add bonus injury to insult by bringing back her worst enemy all in one stroke. There was no part of this plan she didn't love. Maybe she wasn't completely down with the Mayor's intentions, but as far as she was concerned, all he was doing was giving her what she wanted. Lots of what she wanted.

Faith had been to the door of Angel's apartment when she went with Buffy to get him for patrol on those rare occasions that he hadn't found them first. She'd caught a brief glimpse of the inside, too, and she didn't understand why he wanted to stay in that gloomy little basement when he had that huge mansion. Maybe he was just "Spartan", or whatever, like her. But, hell, Spartan or not, if she had a choice like that, she'd take the upgrade—she _had_ taken the upgrade, in fact. Definitely not a decision she'd be regretting any time soon, either.

When she reached the place, she pressed her ear against the door for a few seconds. This obviously wouldn't work if Buffy was inside. She couldn't hear a sound, though, so she quietly turned the knob and pushed the door open.

He was there, reading. He saw her, and she dragged back that horror she had felt the first time she looked at the blood on her hands, letting it fill her expression with fear and uncertainty. He was sympathetic, gentle, like she knew he would be. Part of her believed what she was saying to him—the part that wanted him to pull her back, to help her, make her stop. But that part wanted comfort too, and so did not stop her when she began her seduction. She sat beside him on the sofa and he hugged her when she threw her arms around him hysterically. The rest was pure instinct, and how would he be able to resist this opportunity to take advantage of her? She pulled slowly back, pressing her cheek against his all the way, until their lips were almost touching....

"Whoa," he said, and to her genuine surprise, he moved away. "Faith, I—look, I can be here for you, but not like that, alright? I'm with Buffy."

The disappointed longing of the lost, lonely little girl buried inside her was drowned almost immediately by the jealous anger of the hardened, selfish fighter she had been for so long, but she didn't allow any of it to show on her face. "Buffy, yeah," she said, looking away. "I didn't mean it like that." She looked back. "Maybe I did, but I wouldn't press it." Oh, yes she would—if it would work. "You love her, don't you?"

"I love her," he said, and the anger licked at Faith's insides like a flame to see the truth of those words so bright and tender in his eyes.

"Good for you," she said. "The two of you. You're lucky. We're friends?"

"We're friends."

"Then I'm lucky too."

[o]

Buffy couldn't keep the smile off her face as she walked the familiar route to Angel's apartment, her mind full of happy memories from last night's date. Lately, everything she did with him tended to leave her with warm fuzzies that lasted through the hours they had to be apart. It felt more and more like the heartache and anguish of the year before had healed as though they had never been. And tonight was going to be special. The thing she wanted to give him, which had cleaned out most of her savings and been much harder to find than she'd expected, was sitting in her pocket. She'd never given him a material possession before, and the anticipation was making her giddy.

She reached the outer door that led down to his basement apartment, but once she was through it, she saw that his door was already ajar. All kinds of horrible explanations occurred to her with every step she took down the stairs. Demons could have broken in and attacked him. Or maybe the Council had tracked him down and taken him away. Or he could be in there, so badly injured that he couldn't close the door behind him. She couldn't see any blood, though, or any demon bodies, or signs of a struggle, so maybe…but now, at the bottom of the stairs, she could hear voices. They were too low for her to understand, but she recognized them both immediately. Angel's, and Faith's.

Not really knowing why, Buffy crept as stealthily as possible to the door and cautiously peered in. What she saw seemed to drive an icy dagger through her heart. She couldn't actually see their lips from this angle, but it was obvious to her that there was kissing going on, that the amount of space between their bodies was negligible, and that he wasn't doing a thing to stop it. She felt the object in her pocket shift against her leg. Had she been a silly little girl for assuming so much? Had she been missing the signs all along? Could this have been going on behind her back for months, with the two of them laughing at her foolishness the whole time? Everything in her screamed no, but she couldn't deny what was before her eyes. A second later, Faith stepped away from him, and Buffy instinctively retreated from the doorway and melted into the deep shadows of the staircase. And not a moment too soon, for out came Faith. Buffy was surprised to see the furious expression on the other Slayer's face…could that scene have been something other than it seemed, then? She wanted to ask Angel, to scream, to demand the truth of him, but the possibility that it was all true true, that he and Faith….

Just when she had decided to take the coward's way out and flee, she heard his soft voice call her name. She looked up, startled, and realized that he must have seen her standing there when he came to shut the door. Darkness was no hindrance to his vision, after all. She felt cornered by his gaze, which was completely unfair; she wasn't the guilty one. _The hopefully not guilty one._

"What's wrong?" he asked, moving forward. She tried to keep the same distance between them, but her back hit the wall before she had gone two steps. He stopped, looking even more concerned than before. "Buffy, what's wrong?" he repeated.

"You…F-Faith," she croaked, her vision blurring.

He stared at her in what looked like confusion for a second, and then the proverbial light bulb seemed to click on. His eyes widened and he shook his head. She wasn't even sure how it happened, but suddenly he was right there and his arms were around her. She couldn't stop herself from taking the comfort his embrace offered, even though a not-so-small part of her wanted to shove him away and forbid him from ever touching her again. Without a word, he led her inside the apartment and closed the door behind them. "Ask," he said.

She hadn't expected that, but did as he said. "Why was Faith here?"

"She killed a demon, and it reminded her of what happened with the Deputy Mayor." He looked troubled. "Maybe it was too soon for her to be out patrolling again. I talked to her, tried to help her, but it was almost like she had an ulterior motive. She came onto me—that might have been it, but I turned her down."

"And you thought a little kiss would be a good consolation prize?" asked Buffy in a cracked voice before she could stop herself. The hurt and confusion in her did not want to give up so easily.

"I didn't kiss her," said Angel calmly. "I don't want her. I love _you_, Buffy." He took both of her hands in his. "I've been yours since the first day I saw you, and I always will be."

"Really?" Her heart soared, until embarrassment brutally yanked it back down again. "I'm sorry," she mumbled to her toes. "I mean," she looked up and attempted a grateful, loving smile, but mostly only managed to look mortified, "I already knew all of that, but I still went all conclusion-jump-y on—" He interrupted her then with a kiss, and she could feel his amused grin against her lips. "…You," she finished weakly.

He moved in for another kiss. "Wait," she said, not nearly as firmly as she'd planned, but he obeyed anyway. "I, um, I've got something for you," she said. He tilted his head to the side in such an adorably puppy-like expression of curiosity that she almost forgot why she hadn't let him keep kissing her. Shaking herself mentally, she fished in her pocket and pulled out the silver ring to show him. "I know your old one is gone, so I thought—well, I have mine back, and…I tried to get one that looked as much as possible like the old one…."

She might have gone rambling on forever if she hadn't glanced up at his face. He was smiling and his eyes glistened with tears, just like the night on the docks when he gave her the ring she wore now. Wordlessly, he held out his left hand so she could slide the Claddagh ring on, heart pointing in.

* * *

Faith's failed seduction of Angel being staged at the apartment instead of the mansion makes it much harder for Buffy to slip away unnoticed. It's a logical alternative. ^_^


	44. Wallet Size

The trip to their little demon friend's apartment had not yielded the Books of Ascension, but Buffy wasn't convinced that it had been a waste of time. Considering her new suspicions, however, she would have preferred that it was.

It was easy to lose Faith after they left the place—so easy, in fact, that it seemed like Faith was trying to lose her too. Once she was gone, Buffy doubled back. Demonic or not, the sight of the prone, blood-covered body turned her stomach. Screwing up her face, she approached him and examined the scene more closely than Faith's impatience had allowed before. Within seconds, she spotted a bloody dagger lying on the floor near the body.

[o]

Angel had just taken out a container of blood when he heard a knock at the door. "Come in!" he called, quickly putting the blood back in the fridge. The door opened, and Buffy came in, looking gravely serious and holding an object that had been wrapped carefully in paper towels. "What's up?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"I think we have a problem," she said. He walked over to her and she held out the wrapped object to him. He took it, frowning, and she sank onto the sofa and pressed her forehead into her hands. Feeling apprehensive, he pulled the paper towels away to reveal a knife covered in blood. The scent of it made his eyes widen.

"This is the same blood that was on Faith's hands last night," he said. He looked at Buffy, who, rather than appearing surprised, seemed merely resigned and perhaps a little sad.

"It came from a demon who wanted to sell us the Books of Ascension. Faith and I went to find him today. He was dead and the books were gone."

"It was her," said Angel. "She's working for the Mayor." He put the dagger down on the coffee table and joined Buffy on the sofa. They sat there in silence for a long time.

"What happened?" asked Buffy in a small voice. "What did we do wrong?"

"I don't know." There was no anger in his tone. Or bitterness. He felt only a hollow sense of loss and that he should have seen this coming. It was almost like grieving.

"I fought alongside her for _months_. I don't exactly like her right now because of what she tried to pull last night, but _this_?"

And Angel thought he had gotten through to her. That he'd made her want to change. Apparently all he'd really managed to do was make her want him.

[o]

Giles was beginning to despair in the suspicion that his entire library would prove worthless in their quest to learn more about the Mayor. Faith hadn't been able to tell them much; perhaps she hadn't been convincing enough as a double agent to make him trust her. The files to which Willow had tried so diligently to gain access had also turned up empty. With any luck, though, Buffy would be able to procure these Books of Ascension, as she and Faith had recently gone to do, and then, perhaps, they would be able to make some headway at last.

He was pulled abruptly from these musings, however, by a yell from the stacks. He looked around, alarmed, to see Wesley running out from amid the shelves. "Mr. Giles, the library is under attack!" he cried dramatically. "We must arm ourselves at once!"

"Under attack?" repeated Giles, incredulous. "In the middle of a school day?" He looked back at the place where Wesley (who was now halfway to the book cage and, more specifically, the weapons cabinet it contained) had appeared, and his mouth opened in astonishment, before lifting in a smile. "Aziz! What a surprise! Good Lord, how long has it been?"

Wesley skidded to a halt and only managed not to fall over by seizing the door of the book cage for support. Having finally managed to steady himself, he looked around in utter bewilderment. Giles's greeting had been directed at the rather sinister-looking dark mage who had just appeared next to him out of nowhere in the stacks and caused his panic.

"Too long, Rupert Giles," said the mage in a deep, resonating voice. Most of his face was obscured by black cloth, but his glowing yellow eyes seemed to be crinkled in a friendly smile. Or perhaps an amused one, for they flickered briefly to Wesley before he said, "I apologize for the fright I gave your associate."

"Oh, that's quite all right," said Wesley, going red. "And I apologize for screaming bloody murder," he added in a self-disgusted undertone.

"And how is Farah?" asked Giles, sparing Wesley from further embarrassment.

The smile in Aziz's eyes grew more pronounced. "She is now expecting our third child. In fact," he drew closer, pulling what seemed to be an ordinary leather wallet from a pocket in his robes, "that is why I am here. I was summoned to town and heard you were living here now." He stopped at Giles's side and opened the wallet to reveal pictures of Aziz, Farah, and two small children. "This is our son, Haidar, and our daughter, Atiya," he said, his voice full of affectionate pride.

"They're beautiful. Congratulations."

"What can I ever do to repay the debt I owe you for the joy that has come into my life since you helped Farah's path cross with mine?"

"It was my pleasure, I assure you," said Giles. "Now, er," he went on curiously, "you say you were summoned to town?"

"I was. Your mayor has requested my services."

Both Watchers went rigid. "For what, exactly? If you don't mind my asking, that is," said Giles.

"He wishes me to remove the soul of a vampire he intends to have for his ally," said Aziz conversationally.

"No!" shouted Wesley, alarmed and infuriated by the implication. He would not let it happen! Friend of Giles's or not, if this man or demon or whatever he was had agreed to remove Angel's soul, then Wesley would do whatever he had to do to prevent him from succeeding.

Aziz looked at him calmly. "This man does not want me to fulfill the Mayor's request?"

"Nor do I," said Giles, shooting Wesley a quelling look to keep him from interfering. "The Mayor is a very dangerous enemy, and the vampire in question happens to be a—an ally of mine in his current ensouled condition." He had come close to calling Angel a friend, but found that he could not quite do it.

"I have already agreed to perform this magic, though the idea of assisting any enemy of yours gives me little pleasure."

"Aziz," said Giles very seriously, "if you were to, perhaps, make it _appear_ as though the necessary magic had been performed without actually doing it, I would consider your debt repaid."

Aziz considered him for a moment, then nodded. "It shall be done."

[o]

Buffy and Angel were still sitting side-by-side on his couch when the phone rang, jolting them out of the daze into which they had been plunged by the discovery of Faith's betrayal. Angel got up to answer it and Buffy followed, if only for something to do.

"Hello?"

"Angel." It was Giles, and he sounded urgent. Angel quickly pushed the speaker button just in time for the next sentence to blare out across the apartment. "The Mayor is trying to relieve you of your soul."

"What?!" yelped Buffy, a hand shooting out to clutch one of Angel's, and he looked just as alarmed as her.

"Yes, well," Giles continued, "it just so happens that he went through the wrong channels in his attempts to accomplish it. I expect you'll be hearing from a mage soon, Angel. His name is Aziz, and he's an old friend of mine. He's agreed to only give the appearance of removing your soul."

"You want me to play along," Angel realized.

"The Mayor obviously wants you for something. It could be that he'll tell you more than he's told Faith."

"But Faith's in on it!" said Buffy.

"What?" asked Giles sharply. Another voice echoed his, and they guessed that he had put his phone on speaker as well, and that Wesley was there with him.

"She killed the demon with the books and took them, and—oh!" She gasped, her eyes round as coins. "She tried to seduce Angel last night!" Her grip on Angel's hand became distinctly possessive as she said it. "She doesn't know the curse is different now. What if she was doing it on the Mayor's orders to make him lose his soul?"

"And she thought _that _would have been perfect happiness?" Angel muttered scornfully.

"What an absurdly arrogant presumption," they heard Wesley snort in reply. "Has she any idea how rare—"

"Quite," Giles cut in impatiently, "but that's hardly the point. If Faith has indeed turned against us and the books are with the Mayor, then it becomes even more crucial for Angel to use this opportunity discover all he can. It could be our only chance."

"When's this going down, Giles?" asked Buffy.

"It can't be much longer now. Aziz sounded like he planned on setting off for it very soon."

"Thanks for the heads up," she said.

"You're welcome, and good luck." There was a click, and the call ended. Angel put the phone back in its cradle and turned to Buffy. They stared at each other for a few seconds, letting the weight of everything sink in.

"Are you sure you can do this?" asked Buffy.

"I am," he said, "but are you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Buffy, I'm going to have to act like I don't have a soul."

"I know," she said.

"Faith and the Mayor have never met me without a soul," he said, trying to figure out how best to explain this. "If Faith is really far enough gone to do this…," he broke off again, frustrated. "She probably thinks the only reason I turned her down is my soul. If that's the case, then the only way to convince her that I don't have it…"

Buffy's eyes widened. She didn't need him to finish the sentence. She drew a deep breath and let it out again, trying to stay level-headed. "Do what you have to do," she said. Then she let out a squeak of hysterical laughter. "God, this information had better be worth it."

* * *

I've always wondered how Giles found out what that mage bloke was up to, and the most logical explanation I could think of was that mage bloke wanted to show him pictures of his kids. ^_^ Obviously, Wesley wasn't there in canon, and the only reason for his being there in this (besides my desire to use him for comic relief) could be that he and Giles get along slightly better in this than canon, so he might reasonably have been hanging around the library more often, and so would have been present for mage bloke's appearance. Also, the names of mage bloke and his family. According to the episode's shooting script, mage bloke was speaking Arabic when he did the fake soul-removing spell, so I just found a bunch of Arabic names with cool meanings. Aziz means power, Farah means joy, Haidar means lion, and Atiya means gift.


	45. World's Best Actor

Buffy couldn't take the stress of her own company while she waited for the next thing to happen, so she went back to the library. Giles and Wesley were still there, and from their concerned expressions, she knew she must look terrible. Giles immediately brought her a cup of tea and led her to a chair. Wesley bobbed fretfully a few feet away, taking a seat one second and the next, leaping up to pace the space between the counter and the book cage.

"Should we get the others in here to tell them what's happening?" Buffy asked once the tea was gone. It hadn't proven very soothing.

"No, I don't think so," said Wesley before Giles could open his mouth.

"Why not?" she asked. "If they think Angelus is really back, they'll freak." Hell, she was freaking and she knew it would only be an act.

"Wesley's right," said Giles. "The more people who know, the harder it will be to keep from Faith. I don't imagine Willow would handle the pressure of keeping the secret well, and I would be very surprised if Xander or Cordelia didn't let something slip on accident. Oz needn't be told either, and," he shot Wesley an irritated look, "I'm not even sure _you_ should be in on it. You've been so tense since Aziz was here that you look as if you're about to have a seizure. Will you sit _down_?"

Wesley looked affronted, but did as he was told.

Buffy couldn't decide whether to burst into tears or laughter.

"What about the Council?" asked Wesley after a rather strained silence.

"They might indeed be helpful in this situation, but bringing them into it could put undue scrutiny on Buffy," said Giles, shaking his head. Wesley's only reply was a defeated expression, which had little to do with their inability to trust the Council with such important matters. He couldn't help thinking that he, as Faith's Watcher, was responsible for this. What was more, he had supported the idea of her being a double agent. Perhaps if he had been more cautious, none of this would have happened.

[o]

As soon as the sun was beneath the horizon, Angel went to the mansion. Whatever was about to happen with Faith, he refused to let it take place in the apartment that housed the memories of so many of the precious, private moments he and Buffy had shared. And what would a few more terrible, dark moments be to the place where he had almost sent the world to Hell?

Angel fingered the ring Buffy had given him the night before. It felt like a powerful protective talisman, and it drew a smile from him despite what lay ahead.

[o]

Faith went to the apartment first, but it was empty. She couldn't think where else Angel would go, until she remembered the mansion. Maybe he did decide to upgrade after all. The closer she got to Crawford Street, however, the more persistent became her doubts. What was she doing? All he'd ever done was help her. His way might be the hard way, and it might not be as fun, but he did care, and he'd shown more confidence in her than the rest of them combined. Was she really going to repay him for that by ripping away his soul? Did his friendship mean so little to her that she was capable of destroying it—and him—for selfish ends? That idea bothered her more than she would admit, but it alone wasn't enough to make her stop walking.

He was there in the mansion, and he saw her almost immediately. "Faith," he said. He looked sad and maybe a little strained, and she wondered if it was her fault.

"Hey," she said. "Sorry to bust in uninvited."

"What do you want?" he asked.

The wariness in his voice stung, but she covered it. "Look, I'm not so good at apologies. Mostly because I think the world's out to screw me, so I'm generally more owed than owing, but I've been thinking about last night and I wanted you to know I'm really sorry." And she meant it. Didn't she?

"It's alright, Faith," he said reluctantly.

"No, it's not alright," she contradicted, feeling agitated again. "Yeah, I was freaked and I needed somebody, but you're with Buffy." She looked down. "I should know better."

"Yeah, okay," said Angel. Without appearing to do so, he scrutinized her closely. Everything about her screamed conflicted. He felt like he could still pull her back, but he didn't know how to do it and she didn't know how to ask. She stepped closer, and he took an automatic step back, but upon seeing the hurt in her eyes, he instantly regretted it.

"You don't trust me," she said, and it was as if something inside her broke. He was just like the rest of them. All that talk, those months of "being there" for her, and he didn't trust her. All he really cared about was Buffy.

"It's not that," he said, while adding mentally, _No, it's just that you're plotting to take away my soul. How was I supposed to know you just wanted another hug first?_

His feeble words had done nothing to repair the damage. "Hey, no problem," she said bitterly as she turned her back on him. "Join the club."

He groaned inwardly and walked forward. "Look, Faith. I know what you're going through, alright, and how hard it can be. It's important you have somebody who's been there and who understands what you're going through." He grasped her lightly by the shoulders and turned her around. "Look, I want to trust you," he said sincerely. For a second, he thought he'd gotten her back, but then….

Her lip curled. "Chump," she said, whipping out a small vial of blood and splashing its contents on him. _It's done_, she thought. _No turning back now_. Right on cue, Aziz materialized from the shadows and began chanting in Arabic.

Even though Angel knew nothing was going to happen to his soul, it wasn't hard to pretend; the chanting was incredibly unnerving. "Faith!" he yelled, his face screwed up in anger. As much as he had prepared himself for this, he felt the betrayal so acutely that it was almost like a literal knife in his back, and part of him hated her for it.

"I wanted to do this the old-fashioned way," she said, "but hey, your loss. Lucky I've got some tricks Buffy don't know yet."

"You don't have to do this!" he said desperately. He felt whatever magic Aziz was employing lock him in place, and hoped the mage didn't plan on making it much more realistic than this.

"I know, but it's fun," said Faith. "Now relax, it'll be over soon."

Aziz continued chanting. Bright white and electric blue lights shot from his hands and surrounded Angel. The lights were at once hot and cold, and for a moment seemed to go through him, and then they were gone. The force that had been holding him still vanished as well, and he fell to the floor. He could hear Faith holding her breath as he got unsteadily to his feet. His features transforming, he whipped around with a snarl, seized her by the arms, and pulled her to him for a hard kiss. She responded at once, simultaneously struggling to get free and trying to press herself closer, but he let her succeed at neither. Finally, he forced her away, his grip on her upper arms still vice-like.

"Thanks," he said. "_So_ much." He backhanded her so hard and suddenly across the face that she went flying backward and crumpled to the ground. "It's good to have the taste of a Slayer back in my mouth. It's like cigarettes, you know? Just when I thought I'd quit." She tried to stand up, but he kicked her viciously in the stomach. "No, really. Don't get up." He turned indifferently and strode across the room.

If he really were soulless, he wouldn't be putting up with Faith having her way even this much. He'd be brutally showing her what her place was, and once he'd had his fun, he'd snap her neck for her amusing presumption, because with or without his soul, he would always choose Buffy over her. As it was, he obviously couldn't do most of that, but he wanted to scare her. Partly because he was furious with her, but also because if she wouldn't listen to him when he was trying to be her friend, maybe he could still frighten her enough by showing her what evil really meant that she wouldn't want it anymore.

"It's good to be back in Sunnydale," he went on. "Nice climate, plenty to eat, no tortured humanity to hold me down." Behind him, Faith flipped herself up, and he pretended not to notice as she came towards him. "But you know what bothers me?" Without warning, he spun and grabbed her by the throat. He could smell her fear now, not to mention see it all over her face. "You don't seem to be getting the big picture here, Faith. Now, I don't know why you turned me, but I'm just glad you did." He yanked her head to the side and went in for the bite, but she kneed him hard in the gut, and he staggered back, but recovered by the time she pulled out a stake.

"I got my reasons," she said.

"Let me guess," he sneered, "you summoned back the true Angelus because…you needed a new boy toy. Sorry! Doesn't work that way."

She lunged at him with the stake, but he caught her by the wrist, and quickly grabbed the other when she tried to punch him with her free hand.

"You wanna be smart, you listen to me," she said through gritted teeth. He could still smell her fear, but she wasn't backing down.

"Funny thing about vampires, Faith," he snarled, fangs bared. "We don't establish meaningful dialogue with Slayers."

"Not how Buffy tells it," she retorted, which tore an involuntary growl for him and gave her the opening to catch him off-guard with a kick to the knee, sending him crashing to the floor.

Before he could get up, she forced him down by straddling his waist, and he laughed. "I should have known you'd like it on top."

"You want to listen or you want to die?" she demanded, raising the stake. The banter continued in like fashion until the subject of the Mayor finally came up, followed by another make-out session.

All hope of this being a salvage mission as well as reconnaissance was gone, and all that remained was for Angel to play his part and learn everything he could. Fortunately for him, Faith seemed to be on a tight schedule, which spared him the necessity of coming up with a convincing excuse for not allowing things between them to go much farther than kissing. Undercover or not, he wasn't going _there_ unless he had absolutely no choice.

* * *

More canon-lifting. Joy. Well, at least there was lots of fun emotion to explore in the midst of the canon-lifting. It made me laugh that I was writing this kind of stuff whilst listening to Christmas classics. By the way, _Dollhouse _is back tonight (finally) with two new episodes in a row, at least one of which will include such awesome guest stars as Alexis Denisof (Wesley) and the always hardcore Summer Glau (River from _Firefly_ and _Serenity_ and Cameron from _Terminator:TSCC_), so you should all watch it, because it's going to be amazing. Oh, and reviews would also be nice. (And on that note, holy CRAP, I can't believe this has over six hundred reviews. You guys rock.)

Also, here's a treat to compensate for the unfortunate lack of shirtless Angel in the past few chapters. http ://www. youtube. com/watch? v=4aQF-4lWPU0 (get rid of the spaces). ^_^


	46. Always

Buffy lay awake much later than she normally would. Beneath the covers, she clutched a certain leather jacket that was several sizes too big for her tightly around herself. She hadn't worn it since Angel had come back. Its former owner was too much to deal with in person at the moment, though, so the small amount of comfort it offered would have to suffice.

_"You know, I never properly thanked you for sending me to Hell, and I'm just wondering, where do I start? Card…fruit basket…evisceration?_ _I know what you're thinking. Maybe there's still some good deep down inside of me that remembers and loves you. If only you could reach me. But, then again, we have reality."_

It was just an act. _It was just an act!_ Those five words had become her mantra throughout this unbearably long, lonely, and sleepless night, but she couldn't get the images out of her head. An act it may have been, but it had brought back a flood of memories of the previous spring. Buffy knew such thoughts wouldn't do her any good, and she tried to take comfort in the knowledge that, thanks to Wesley, she'd never have to deal with the real Angelus again. It was indeed a comforting thought, but that wasn't all.

_ "See," said Faith, "when I was a kid, I used to beg my mom for a dog. Didn't matter what kind; I just wanted, you know, something to love." And she seized a fistful of Angel's shirt and pulled him into a kiss. His lips lingered on her neck when she turned back to face her, a look of gloating triumph on her face._

What cruel irony. Her initial fears about Angel and Faith had been irrational, but then she'd had to watch the manifestation of them anyway. And it _still_ didn't mean anything, but it was just so engrained in her mind's eye. She couldn't think about Angel without seeing him kissing Faith, and from there, she couldn't stop herself from wondering what else might have happened so he could maintain the charade. How much of _that_ had been an act? How hard had he tried to prevent it? Her fear of the answers to those questions and her shame at being unable to suppress them were yet more reasons why she didn't feel like she could face him just yet. How she wished everything could go back to the way it was mere days ago!

[o]

As much time as he had spent in it alone, Angel had never fully appreciated how lonely his apartment could be. He supposed it was better than if he was in the mansion with even more space to be by himself, but that was hardly a silver lining worth thinking about. And he didn't have to be in the mansion to remember what had happened there.

_"See," said Faith, "when I was a kid, I used to beg my mom for a dog. Didn't matter what kind; I just wanted, you know, something to love." She seized a fistful of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss—a kiss he had no choice but to participate in with enthusiasm. He could feel Buffy's eyes on him as his lips lingered on Faith's neck._

He hated that it had all been necessary, and the reason it had been necessary in the first place did little to improve his mood. Faith. Even though, in the end, the choice had been hers, he blamed himself. He had been the one she trusted the most, and somehow he had failed her. Should he have spent more time with her? Put more pressure on the others to accept her? Or would he have been unable to make a difference no matter what he did?

_"Faith, we need to get out of here, now."_

_ "Speak for yourself, B. Me, I like it here."_

_ He growled and Buffy turned to face him just in time for his fist to send her crashing to the floor, unconscious._

The bruises on his knuckles had already faded, but he wished they hadn't. It didn't seem right that his physical discomfort as a consequence of hurting Buffy, even if it had been done for the sake of keeping the act going, would be negligible and only last an hour.

True, they had learned a lot about the Mayor that they didn't know before—most of it extremely ominous—, but it didn't make him feel like the victor, for here in the aftermath, he was alone in his apartment, where he was avoiding Wesley and being avoided by Buffy. He felt too guilty and ashamed to do anything to change the latter—and that should be her choice, anyway—and he knew that Wesley would try to pull him out of his dark depression if he gave him the chance, and that was something he didn't think he deserved as long as Buffy wanted to stay away from him. Wesley had already come knocking once, but the door was locked and Angel had simply pretended not to be home. Though the things Wesley shouted through the door proved he didn't buy that Angel wasn't there, he eventually gave up and went away.

Angel's thoughts became darker the longer he sat in silence. It wasn't the first time he'd pretended not to have a soul. The first few years after the gypsies cursed him had been spent following Darla around the globe, trying to convince her he hadn't changed. Her multiple rejections (and death threats) had been devastating then, but he was profoundly thankful for them now. He hadn't really done much acting when he met Spike on that submarine in '43, but his general surliness and domineering presence seemed to satisfy him well enough. Perhaps Spike had grown wiser in the intervening years, though, because his act at the parent teacher conference just after Spike came to Sunnydale hadn't fooled him.

The night before, however, he had succeeded in fooling Faith and the Mayor. No matter how useful it had been, the idea that he was capable of pretending to be his soulless self that convincingly disturbed him—much more so for the undeniable sense of perverse enjoyment it had given him, limited though that had been. It had felt powerful and liberating, and he was afraid of what that meant. He was still a demon; was having a soul not enough to make him incapable of doing what he had done without one? He remembered the cashier at that doughnut shop in the '70s. He hadn't killed him, but he hadn't done anything to stop him from dying. The man's heart had hardly stopped beating before his fangs were in his throat. No wonder Buffy was avoiding him.

Trying to stave off further unwanted recollections (but not really succeeding), he pulled out his sketchbook and charcoals and went to work, hardly aware of what the lines he drew were forming. Then, for the second time in two hours, there came a loud series of knocks on his door, followed by Wesley's angry voice.

"Angel! Open up! I know you're in there!" As he had done before, Angel ignored him. "Look, I'm not daft, I can see light under the door!" Angel had to bite back a chuckle at that. "Fine! Even if you won't let me in, I know you can hear me, and I know you're sitting there brooding. You're being ridiculous. Nobody blames you for what you had to do to get that information. The fact is we had very little to go on before that, but not anymore, thanks to you. The whole thing was bloody brilliant, too, if you ask me. You played their hand against them and _won_. That's something you should be proud of, even if it is rather daunting to know that the Mayor is invulnerable…" He trailed off, apparently struggling to find a way to bring back the indignant optimism he'd started with. Angel waited, amused, but evidently Wesley couldn't do it, for he changed the subject instead.

"And I suppose you think it's your fault Faith betrayed us, do you?" he demanded. "Well, how do you think I feel? I'm her bleeding Watcher, aren't I? She was my responsibility, not yours! Even Xander blames me more than he blames you, so if you don't mind, I'd like my helping of the guilt for it, and while I'm at it, I'll take everyone else's portions too, since we _all_ feel horrible about it. At least you _tried_ to get through to her. Most of us have been treating her like a live grenade for ages; so, really, it's a small wonder she didn't turn on us sooner!"

When this too failed to illicit a reaction, Wesley changed the subject again. "Oh, but perhaps you're just sulking because Buffy needed a bit of time to herself to put this behind her. Well, who _wouldn't_? Brilliant plan or not, of course it was hard on her, but there's no reason to lock yourself away because of it. If you and she could get past what happened last year, this shouldn't be any trouble at all!" He said nothing else for a long moment, and then Angel distinctly heard him stamp his foot. "Oh, stay in there, then, if you insist! But if you're still shut up when our next scheduled training session comes around, I _will_ break down this door!" Angel listened to his footsteps as he stormed back up the stairs. Then came the slam of the outer door, and then silence.

[o]

Buffy pulled the jacket tighter around her, but she still couldn't fall asleep. She had gotten too used to the feeling of Angel's arms around her over the past couple of months, and the jacket really couldn't compare. After a long time spent staring at the night stand next to her bed without really seeing it, she noticed the small book sitting on top of it. It took her approximately five seconds to realize that it was the copy of _Sonnets from the Portuguese_ Angel had given her the day he came back. Abandoning the attempt to sleep, she sat up, turned on her lamp, and picked up the book as though it were extremely fragile. She opened it, and her vision immediately blurred at the sight of the elegantly scripted word on the title page. She traced her fingers over the ink lines, and a small smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

_Always_.

[o]

It was a moment before Angel registered that the sketch he had just completed was yet another of Buffy. There was a tender smile playing about her lips and eyes as she turned back before leaving the apartment.

_"You still my girl?"_

_ "Always."_

_

* * *

Angst. Angst. Angst. _*snicker* Okay, even though we're dealing with Angel here, filling up a whole chapter with brooding is still kinda hard, but it was pretty much unavoidable, and it was the least canon-lift-y way to address the end of "Enemies". Wesley shouting at Angel was very helpful. And then the "Always" theme! At least that ends it on a bit less of a brooding note.


	47. What Was Thought Cannot Be UnThought

So, now I'm back from final exams (I totally got all A's, by the way) and a time-consuming "Season 9" episode and Writer's Block and family Christmas stuff. I really had no idea what to do with "Earshot", but then I remembered the part where Buffy and Angel run into each other on the sidewalk and decided to play with it. Bwaha. Enjoy!

* * *

Buffy was utterly miserable. In fact, it was the first time she had been this unhappy since Angel had returned. She felt like a coward, unable to face the man she loved because she was letting her fears get the better of her. The four wonderful gifts he had given her since they met had been her only sources of consolation (which more often than not merely served to remind her of times before things had gotten so screwed up, rather than providing any actual consolation). She wished desperately for the courage to go to him, and she knew she couldn't keep avoiding him forever, but how was she supposed to approach him?

And if only that was the last of her concerns. To a smaller, though still significant, degree, she had also spent much of that day fretting over what would happen to her as a result of the demonic "infection" she had managed to contract in the process of killing those freaky mouthless demons the night before. No, she corrected herself gloomily, she had only killed _one_ of the demons. The other one got away. So now she was a crappy Slayer on top of being an abandoned friend who got to miss out on highly anticipated basketball games, a pathetic excuse for a girlfriend, and a possible aspect-of-the-demon-having freak-person. With a strong feeling of apprehension, she pulled out her compact and opened it to search her reflection for evidence of any manifesting demon-y traits. There weren't any. Somehow, she wasn't very relieved. It just meant more torturous waiting and uncertainty. Fun.

[o]

Angel hadn't wanted to leave his apartment, but he'd gotten tired of Wesley's attempts to force him out of it. Maybe the Englishman would visit again while he was out and be satisfied enough to let him brood in peace for a few more days. Not that the idea was exactly appealing. It had already been a week since the last time he saw Buffy, and he was beginning to despair that irreparable damage must have been done by their charade if she couldn't bear to be around him for this long. He looked down at the Claddagh ring he wore, which she had so recently given him. How ironic it was, he mused dully, that things had taken such a sharp turn for the worse both when he first put his ring on her finger, with his losing his soul mere hours later, and when she returned the gesture, with his being forced to pretend having lost his soul all over again. In his time, such an exchange of rings would have been the equivalent of marital vows (not, he thought bitterly, that he would have been likely to make any commitment that confining back then, considering what a shameless lecher he had been), but now, when nothing would make him happier than to exchange those vows with Buffy, the rings seemed to only have been an omen of doom. But, no, he was being ridiculous. When he was still entombed in the Council's dungeons, Buffy's ring had been an enormous (if bittersweet) comfort to him, and they had shared so much happiness ever since it had gone back on her finger that the comparison could not stand. No, the rings themselves were not cursed. It was their circumstances that were—and always had been, even though his literal curse was no longer a hindrance.

It wasn't until he became aware of the scent he'd apparently been following that he pulled himself out of his thoughts. By then, however, it was too late. His feet had already carried him within feet of none other than Buffy, and even though she didn't seem to have noticed him yet, he'd be a coward to run away now. Besides, he didn't think he could force himself to move any direction that wasn't towards her even if he tried.

If the uncharacteristic droop to her shoulders was any indication, it didn't look like her week had been any better than his. All that observation did for him was make him wish he could be sure she would welcome it if he wrapped his arms around her. As he watched, she pulled out a small mirror and, after a couple of seconds of checking her reflection in it, said with feeble enthusiasm, "Well, still got a mouth." He had no idea what that was about, but didn't have much time to think about it before she lowered the mirror and turned around. She jumped upon catching sight of him, and he repressed a wince when he heard her heart rate quicken without any of the usual accompanying signs to indicate that it meant she was happy to see him. That she was wearing both the ring and the necklace he'd given her helped a little, though.

"Angel," she said automatically.

"Sorry," he said, looking down.

"No," she said, taking a step towards him, her tone slightly desperate. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have avoided you like that. I've hated not seeing you, and the whole time I was just letting everything fester in my head and I could have just talked to you and I can't even sleep and—"

"I just meant—sorry for making you jump," he mumbled sheepishly.

"Oh," she said. Her cheeks reddened. "Well, uh…."

"But I am—sorry, I mean," he added quickly and awkwardly, "for…." He swallowed, thinking for about the millionth time about everything that had happened during those hours he had spent pretending to be soulless. A whole week thinking of little else and now he didn't know what to say. "I wish there'd been another way to find out what was going on."

"So do I."

"I've missed you," he said softly. Her eyes snapped up to meet his. He looked away. "And it's good to know you're safe. I wanted to give you time like you asked, however much of it you needed, but I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and then you were right here…." He trailed off feebly, inwardly marveling that he seemed to be just as susceptible to babbling tonight as she was.

"I've missed you too," she said.

He smiled and stepped tentatively closer. "How've you been?" he asked.

She shrugged. As much as she wanted to, she didn't really feel like it would be fair to list off all of her problems to him after a week of zero contact that had been her doing. But he seemed to know what she was thinking, and he wouldn't have any of it. He stepped even closer until he was barely a foot away, then slowly reached a hand up to the side of her face. Her eyes fell closed and she leaned into his touch. "You can tell me anything, Buffy," he said.

So she did. As they walked slowly down the street together, hand in hand, with no particular destination in mind, she told him about feeling left out by all of her friends, about the demon that got away, and about what had supposedly happened to her when she killed the other one.

"Aspect of the demon," he said, nodding.

"You now the drill...," she said glumly.

"By rumor," he said, "but that doesn't mean anything. Sometimes demons exaggerate their power."

"Demon-hype," said Buffy, allowing herself some amusement at the thought for a couple of seconds. "Or maybe not. But, hey, I spend all my time here in the dark anyway. It's not like I'd be at a game or out with friends or something where people could _see_ me and my new monster-part."

Angel stopped walking, forcing her to stop too and look at him. "I won't let anything hurt you if I can help it," he said, looking her straight in the eyes. "And no matter what happens, I'll be with you. I'll love you even if you're covered with slime."

Buffy smiled unwillingly at his words, but started walking again and changed the subject. "I'm glad you found me out here. I've been wanting to come see you since practically the second I left, but I let everything that happened get in the way." She sighed. "Yet another thing to go on the 'Ways in which Buffy's Being Stupid' list."

"It wasn't stupid," said Angel quietly. She looked at him. "What happened with Faith was hard. It doesn't make you stupid or weak if it gets to you."

"Doesn't make me feel better about avoiding you for so long," she said. "I know you only did what you had to do, but I've been punishing you for it."

"Would it help if I told you I hated every second of kissing Faith and watching you suffer?"

She smiled again. "It would."

They lapsed into a companionable silence, and eventually ended up in front of Buffy's house, not having met any demons (or Slayers gone bad) on the way. Buffy let go of his hand, but instead of walking up to the house, turned to him and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest. He hugged her back, and in the long moment during which they stood there without moving, they both felt what remained of the rift between them heal.

"So," said Buffy when she pulled away. "I'll see you soon?" Her expression was hopeful.

"Yeah," he said. She smiled her brightest smile yet and started to walk towards the house, but turned back when he added, "Oh, and if you see Wes, tell him we talked."

She raised her eyebrows, looking amused.

"He's been threatening to break down my door if I didn't get out soon, and I think he might actually do it the next time he comes over to yell at me."

She had to suppress a giggle at the ridiculous mental image of Wesley trying to break down a door. Even in her mind, she couldn't see him succeeding. All he managed was to nearly dislocate his shoulder. "I'll pass it on," she said.

[o]

Buffy didn't know how she would have gotten through the next few days if it hadn't been for her accidental encounter with Angel. Her aspect of the demon turned out to be telepathy, which was entertaining at first, but soon became almost unbearable, as if her mind was being invaded and attacked from all sides. At least it enabled her to prevent a suicide and a mass murder by rat poison-flavored Jell-O, but it also meant that she learned a little too much about Xander's inner thoughts and what had really happened between her mother and Giles during the band candy incident.

* * *

So yeah, obviously my Buffy is less bitter about the Faith thing and more ashamed about the avoiding Angel thing than canon Buffy (who I think was being ridiculous and PMS-y about all of it). Her and Angel clearing the air with the accidental sidewalk encounter makes it unnecessary to write about the later encounter, which wouldn't have been as critical (particularly if Buffy didn't feel like she needed to read his mind to find out about his feelings or lack thereof for Faith). Anyway, hope you all had a lovely Christmas, and that you'll have a great New Year's Eve (without getting too crazy, I mean). Oh, and this chapter's title comes from what Buffy found out about Joyce and Giles. Also, I think my favorite part of canon in, like, the entire series, was when Giles bonked into that tree at the end of the episode. *giggles madly*


	48. Decision and Doubt

Okay, this time, the delay was because I was very distracted by _Pride and Prejudice_ fanfiction. I seem to have run out of it now, though, and even gotten a little sick of it, so here I am again. Enjoy!

* * *

_"I'm sorry, Buffy; this conversation is reserved for people who actually _have_ a future."_

Cordelia's words—a low blow even by her standards—reverberated around Buffy's mind despite all her attempts to forget them. The acceptance letter her mother had been boasting far and wide to every obscure relative she never new existed (and which had only that morning seemed like an easily dismissed impossibility) suddenly acquired all of the appeal of a glorious escape. Instead of feeling duty-bound to remain in Sunnydale (something to which she had been resigned without much bitterness before), she now felt frankly duty-strangled by the prospect, and thought that Northwestern University might just be her way to freedom.

Trying to ignore the indignation she felt that such a change of mind was brought on by Cordelia's insults, Buffy made her way quickly to the library. She found Giles there alone, and told him her news with a tentative smile. The pride he showed in her bolstered her resolve, and she couldn't restrain herself from giving him a grateful hug.

"Do you know where Wesley is?" she asked while Giles was busy attempting to prevent the moisture in his eyes from overflowing.

He seemed grateful for the topic change. "He's at, erm, another training session with Angel, I believe," he said rather gruffly.

"Thanks," said Buffy, and she turned to go.

[o]

Sure enough, when she entered the mansion fifteen minutes later, the sounds of sparring reached her ears. She followed them to the great room, where a shirtless Angel and a Wesley whose white undershirt was drenched with sweat were trading blows. Predictably, Angel had Wesley on the defensive, but the young Watcher was holding his own much better than Buffy had seen him do before. Not wanting to interrupt, she walked over and sat down on the stone hearth to watch. She noticed immediately that Angel was deliberately pulling his punches and kicks just enough to make sure they wouldn't do any real damage if Wesley failed to block or dodge them. Such restraint was unnecessary when he sparred with her, but she had the strength and reflexes of a Slayer and had long since been in perfect synchronicity with Angel when they fought, whether it was side-by-side on patrol like last night or against each other.

When they paused briefly so that Wesley could catch his breath, Angel looked over at her and grinned. She smiled and rolled her eyes. He'd known she was there the moment she entered. Wesley, still panting hard, noticed where Angel was looking and turned to see what was there, then gave a small start of surprise to see Buffy sitting in front of the fireplace.

"Oh! Hello, Buffy," he said. "What…brings you here?"

Angel signaled him to start again, and the match continued.

"Giles said I could find you here," said Buffy. "I've been thinking about what'll happen after graduation." She allowed herself to forget, for the time being, that there was a very great chance that there wouldn't be any after graduation for her. "I want to leave."

"What?" asked Angel, completely distracted by this unexpected announcement. This lapse of attention came at precisely the worst moment, for Wesley, who was too focused on the match for the meaning of her words to penetrate his mind with the same rapidity as they had his opponent's, let fly his final punch. With the improved force and aim of all of the training sessions of the past few months behind it, his fist struck Angel squarely on the jaw, sending him crashing ungracefully to the floor. Wesley's triumphant delight turned to panic and horror almost instantly. Angel was already getting back to his feet, but his face had transformed. Wesley recoiled, sure he had gone too far and was about to pay for it, but Buffy dashed past him and, completely disregarding the demonic features before her, began to fuss over Angel. He was soon able to reassure her that he was fine, and as his appearance became human again, she rounded on Wesley with a glare that was just as frightening as Angel's vamp face.

"I'm sorry!" he said, then winced at how shrilly the words had come out.

"It's okay," said Angel, rubbing his jaw ruefully. "Just make sure you can land punches like that when your opponent is actually paying attention."

Wesley's face, already somewhat red from the exertion of sparring, went redder, but then his mind finally caught up with his ears, and he looked at Buffy, frowning. "Leave? What do you mean?"

"I want to leave," she repeated, still glaring at him. "You know, college?"

Angel's tense posture loosened with relief at this explanation. For ten nightmarish seconds, he'd wondered if her new ambition was inspired by a desire to get away from him. He mentally chided himself for his ridiculous insecurity, and felt glad he hadn't expressed it aloud.

"But I thought you were going to the local university," said Wesley, confused.

Buffy shook her head. "I got into Northwestern," she said. She looked over her shoulder at Angel. His face was glowing with the same pride that Giles's had shown on hearing this news, and she couldn't hold back a grin as she turned back to Wesley. He, however, was still frowning, though he looked conflicted.

"That is wonderful news, of course," he said, "but…what about the Hellmouth?"

Buffy refused to feel guilty. "I won't have to be gone all the time. I'll be here every school break and maybe even a couple of extra weekends. It's just—I don't want my whole life to revolve around being the Slayer."

Some of Angel's misgivings returned, but he remained silent.

Wesley looked at her doubtfully for a few seconds. "The Council won't like it," he said finally. He disliked having to speak for them, but he was not entirely comfortable with Buffy's plans himself, even if he could not reproach her for a desire to have a better education. "With circumstances as they are—"

"Then I'll change them," she said firmly.

"What?" he asked, taken aback.

"I'm sick of waiting for Mayor McSleaze to make his move while we sit on our hands counting down to Ascension Day. For once, let's take the fight to him."

"In what way?" he asked. "With Faith on the Mayor's side, he knows a great deal more about us than we do about him. I'm afraid he has the advantage."

"And that would be a problem if I wanted to launch a frontal assault," said Buffy impatiently. "To start off, it'll just be recon."

"Oh," said Wesley. He still felt reluctant, but could not deny that her idea was a good one. He glanced at Angel, who obviously agreed with her. "Well, as long as you're careful, I suppose."

[o]

Unfortunately, as careful as they were, the plan did not go entirely smoothly. Buffy discovered through some well-timed sneaking, followed by some henchman-interrogating, that the Mayor had acquired a mystical object called the Box of Gavrok, which would be an essential ingredient for the Ascension. Armed with this information, the logical next step was to take the box and destroy it, but that was where things went wrong.

Though Buffy and Angel succeeded in getting the box and Xander and Oz succeeded in setting up the spell that would destroy it, Willow was captured before she could get away. There followed one very unpleasant argument in which Wesley stood up to Buffy and her insistence that they trade the box to get Willow back. Xander loudly backed Buffy up, but Angel and Giles refused to take sides, both torn between the logic of Wesley's plan and their desire to have Willow safely out of the Mayor's clutches. Things very nearly became violent between Slayer and Watcher when he pointed out that destroying the box would allow her to leave Sunnydale like she wanted to, something she found utterly repugnant if it would cost her one of her best friends to accomplish, but the discussion was brought to an abrupt end when Oz calmly—and violently—hurled the pedestal containing the materials to destroy the box across the library, shattering it.

They made the trade, and had it not been for Willow's presence of mind while captured, they would have been right back where they started. She had managed to tear several key pages from the Books of Ascension, which she smugly gave to an ecstatic Giles. Buffy came out of the exchange with a souvenir as well: a lethal but beautiful dagger Faith had left behind, pinning the body of one of the Box of Gavrok's spidery occupants to the cafeteria wall.

But she wasn't interested in the dagger. She wasn't even interested in leaving Sunnydale anymore. The events of the past couple of days had forced her to see how impractical that would be, and now that Willow had decided to stay too, her disappointment was negligible. No, what she was really worried about was Angel. The Mayor's words about him and his relationship with her had obviously affected him deeply, and she wasn't about to let him stew in his own thoughts on the subject without any input from her.

She found Angel at his apartment that night and suggested that they go for a walk. He agreed, but as she had anticipated, he was also much quieter than usual. She squeezed his hand, trying not to feel awkward. Before she could broach the subject, however, he did.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

"Happy?" she repeated blankly.

"With me," he elaborated, not looking at her.

Buffy stopped walking. Reluctantly, he did the same and eventually raised his eyes to her face, expecting to find sadness there, but that could not have been farther from reality. The tenderness and love in her expression was so powerful that he was sure it would have been enough to stop his heart if it had been beating.

She didn't answer him for a while, but continued to look at him like that, her smile growing more pronounced. "I've _never_ been happier," she said. She raised a hand to the side of his face—the side that didn't sport a large, rapidly fading bruise—and smoothed out the creases of worry on his forehead and around his mouth with her thumb. "I love you, Angel, and I don't regret it. I don't want Sunday picnics if I can't share them with you. There's _nothing_ I'd rather have than be with you. You're not holding me prisoner or keeping me against my will. This is my choice."

Angel couldn't think of anything to say, so he kissed her.

"By the way," she said rather breathlessly when they broke apart several minutes later and started walking again, "I definitely don't plan on complaining about you staying young and gorgeous forever, and if I make it long enough to get old and wrinkly, that'll just be something else to be thankful for. We can laugh about the weird looks we get."

He smirked and draped his arm around her shoulders, and together they walked on.

* * *

Hehe, shirtless Angel. And I couldn't resist letting Wesley land that punch. While that was mostly just simple comic relief, it was also what I kind of want to do to Angel myself after learning certain spoilerific information about him regarding the season eight comics. Which is probably why the punch was hard enough to knock him down. Anyway! Again, I wrote detailed dialogue scenes for the parts that were different from canon, and summarized what wasn't. And again, Buffy and Angel are much closer in this than in canon, so they aren't going to ignore the subjects that could drive wedges between them and hope that they go away. Oh, and _Dollhouse_ is on tonight! Cheers!


	49. Of Tickle Fights and Bow Ties

My recurring Writer's Block problem with this fic seems to be getting progressively worse with every chapter. Some of these alternate episodes are obnoxiously complicated to figure out. But here, at last, is alternate "The Prom". Enjoy!

* * *

Buffy opened her eyes. It took a few seconds for her surroundings to come into focus, and once they did, she smiled. She was warmly snuggled under the covers of Angel's bed, and its other occupant had propped himself up on one elbow and was looking tenderly down at her and stroking her cheek with his free hand. Buffy thought he must have been doing this for several minutes at least; there was no difference between the temperature of his fingers and her skin.

This was how the majority of her mornings had begun in recent weeks, and she found that she loved it more and more all the time, though she was amazed that she always managed to feel so well rested and content despite not having actually gotten much sleep.

Angel took the opportunity of her being awake to lean down and kiss her. Buffy wrapped an arm around him and ran her fingers through his already tousled hair. They spent the next several minutes thus occupied, until Angel reluctantly pulled back.

"Is it time for me to go already?" asked Buffy, pouting.

"If you want to be home in time for breakfast with your mom before school starts," said Angel. "It's just after daybreak now."

"We want her to keep liking you," said Buffy, grudgingly allowing her own voice to become the second half of the chorus of unwanted logic.

"And that won't happen if she thinks I'm keeping you all to myself."

Buffy sighed. Feigning innocence, she suddenly sprang into motion, trying to reach the pile of her clothes on the floor by leaning across him. She had barely managed to stretch out one arm towards them when she recoiled abruptly with a shriek of laughter; Angel had taken advantage of her precarious situation and started tickling her.

[o]

Even though Buffy's diabolical plan succeeded and the tickling rapidly led to other things, she did manage to get home in time—not, perhaps, to pretend that she hadn't been out all night, but certainly early enough for breakfast. Even the awkwardness of her mother knowing what she'd been up to wasn't enough to dim her boisterous good spirits.

"Morning, Mom!" she said brightly before skipping across the kitchen and kissing her on the cheek.

"Good morning, Buffy," said Joyce, amused.

Buffy attacked her plate of bacon, eggs, and toast ravenously and then downed a tall glass of orange juice without taking a breath, her bubbly cheer apparent all the time in the liveliness of her eyes and the grin that broke out across her face whenever she was between mouthfuls.

Joyce watched all these signs with an affectionate eye that was only slightly tinted with bittersweetness. As Buffy had rightly guessed, Joyce knew perfectly well that she had spent the night with Angel. This knowledge would have been far more troubling if it wasn't for Buffy's obvious happiness and the favorable impressions Angel had made the evening he came over for dinner and every other time she'd caught glimpses of him since. What was more, if it was going to be a choice between Buffy spending her nights with Angel and spending them in mortal danger battling all kinds of horrible demons, Joyce would gladly take the former.

Still, it would be nice if she didn't have to worry about this sort of thing for a few more years—and the demon stuff not at all, but if Angel could make Buffy happy in spite of the danger and stress being the Slayer heaped upon her, then more power to him. The fact that he was a vampire was another detail that wasn't as troubling as it could have been, but in this case, that was only because she tried not to think about it and was largely successful.

[o]

Buffy was annoyed. She and Angel had almost finished patrolling when that last vamp decided to turn the night into a game of extreme cat and mouse. Which ultimately meant they had to follow him into the sewers. Despite her reluctance, she agreed with Angel's need for closure, though she did make a mental note to consider wearing rain boots on future patrols.

"Hey," she said suddenly, keeping her voice down, "you need clothes. You don't have a tux, do you?"

Angel made a funny noise that might have been a derisive snort. Since that wasn't a sound he often made, Buffy couldn't be sure she'd heard right, so she turned to look at him quizzically.

"I do, actually," he said finally, noticing her expression.

"And that's funny?" she asked, eyebrows still raised.

Their quarry chose that moment to switch from flight to fight mode, but was foolish enough to do so in the form of a head-on attack, complete with accompanying snarl to make his position even more obvious. Buffy promptly staked him and the conversation resumed as if there had been no interruption.

"Wes made me help him pick out his tux earlier this evening, and I got one too," said Angel in a pained voice.

Buffy looked at him incredulously for a moment, then giggled. "Okay, yeah, funny. I mean, _I_ don't even make you go shopping with me. But why did he want your help with—_oh_." She giggled again, remembering Wesley's reaction earlier that day when Cordelia had told him how 007 he'd look in a tux. "You didn't get any of that on video, did you?"

"No," said Angel flatly. Wesley's status as a best friend to whom he owed a debt that could never be fully repaid notwithstanding, Angel's patience still had its limits, and two hours spent tying to navigate the treacherous passage between Wesley's ego and his insecurities—both of which were considerable—exceeded those limits by a significant amount. It had eventually become quite a struggle not to give him bad advice on purpose out of sheer exasperation.

"If he doesn't ask Cordy to dance on Friday, I'm going to make him eat his bow tie," said Buffy.

Angel laughed.

[o]

Wesley's antics soon proved to be the least of everyone's prom-related worries, however. The next day, Xander and Cordelia arrived at the library together (much to Wesley's misplaced consternation) bearing security footage and grim tidings. After they had all been sufficiently nauseated by the contents of the tape and Xander and Cordelia stopped sniping at each other, they went into full research mode. Giles and Wesley supplied ample information on Hell Hounds, Willow set to work on the computer, and Oz pulled out a yearbook to look up the culprit behind the brutal attack.

"Here," said Oz about half an hour later, having scrutinized both the tape and the yearbook carefully. Everyone gathered around him at the table. "Tucker Wells." He pointed him out on the page. "He's in my chem lab."

"Let me guess," said Wesley dryly, "he was quiet, kept to himself, but always _seemed_ like a nice young man."

"Didn't seem the murderous type, anyway," said Oz. "Something must have happened to him."

Buffy glanced at Angel, whose eyes were narrowed as he looked closely at the yearbook picture. "What is it?" she asked.

"I think I've seen this kid before," he said.

"Do you mean like at the Bronze?" asked Willow, confused.

Angel shook his head. "Meat-packing plant."

Not getting it, Xander snorted. "Why would Dead-Boy go to a—" He caught sight of Buffy glaring at him, and comprehension dawned. "Oh." He turned to Angel, looking disappointed. "Aw, come on. You mean you don't bribe and/or threaten Red Cross people or something?"

Giles cleared his throat. "You say you've seen this boy at a meat-packing plant, Angel?" he said loudly.

"Yeah," said Angel, still scowling at Xander.

"Could he have been there to buy brains?" said Buffy. "I mean, he's gotta be feeding that thing, right?"

"Of course!" said Wesley excitedly.

"I can ask Harv for Tucker's address," said Angel.

"Good," said Buffy, hopping down from her perch on the table. "I'm coming with you." She and Angel were halfway towards the doors when she stopped and looked back. "Hey, Wil, meet you at seven to get ready, okay?"

"Yeah!" said Willow, her worried expression giving way to an eager grin. Oz smiled fondly, but then Willow's anxiety made a brief re-appearance. "Good luck!"

[o]

Harv, a heavy-set man wearing a blood-stained uniform and holding a clipboard, proved to be very helpful. Buffy noticed with a small twinge of regret that he was a little wary around Angel, but it wasn't enough to prevent him from giving them the information they'd been hoping for and stoutly shaking both of their hands before they left.

They arrived at Tucker's place fifteen minutes later, the weapons bag slung over Angel's shoulder. Tucker's younger brother, a sophomore or junior by the look of him, let them in, told them to follow the huge orange extension cord to the shed in the backyard, and went back to his comic book without another word—though that might have been because of the glare Angel leveled at him when he tried to offer more assistance.

They were halfway across the backyard when Tucker came out from around the side clutching a large transmitter, three large, hairy Hell Hounds prowling around him. At once, all of their heads turned in Buffy and Angel's direction and they began to snarl. Tucker saw them too and grinned. "You're too late," he sneered. "Attack, my pets!" he cried as he twiddled something on his transmitter. With loud barks, the Hell Hounds charged. Angel sent one crumpling to the ground by whacking it soundly with the weapons bag, and Buffy seized the other two about the ears and cracked their heads together. After snapping the neck of his with one sharp twist, Angel grabbed an axe from the bag and threw it to Buffy, who caught it and used it to behead both of hers.

Buffy and Angel glanced at each other, then turned simultaneously to face Tucker, who gulped and made a mad dash for the shed. Angel sprang forward and tackled him before he could reach it.

"Think you've got this?" asked Buffy.

"Yeah," said Angel, jerking a whimpering Tucker roughly back to his feet with a growl.

"Good," said Buffy, who felt like she wouldn't be able to stop herself from jumping Angel if she stayed much longer. "I'm just gonna go meet Willow now."

[o]

Wesley was not forced to eat his bow tie. In the end, all he needed was one half-encouraging, half-threatening look from Angel over Buffy's shoulder before he marched right up to Cordelia with a kind of sheepish swagger that only he seemed to be capable of doing and asked her to dance. She readily accepted, and they joined the large group of couples revolving slowly on the floor.

Particularly because of the disastrous Homecoming Queen campaign that she was still trying to block from her memory, Buffy did not expect anything when the prom committee started naming the senior superlatives. So, when Jonathan Levinson took the stage and read out the Class Protector award, she was caught completely by surprise. It was a few seconds before she recovered enough to walk forward and accept the delicate golden parasol from him amid a loud round of heart-felt applause from everyone in the gym. Afterward, her joyful mood was so infectious that she even managed to coax a hitherto unsuspected talent for swing dancing out of Angel when a '20s jazz number played near the end of the dance.

[o]

Almost the second the final chord of the last song played, Buffy and Angel were gone from the building, and they reached his apartment in record time. It was fortunate that Angel had not yet managed to locate the zipper on Buffy's dress, however, for no sooner had they staggered inside and closed the door behind them than an unfamiliar voice sounded from across the room.

"Well, don't you two look fancy!"

* * *

First one to guess who the intruder is wins! And there was another cameo in this chapter that will also result in winning. Anyway. Yeah, so there was a lot different from canon here. Which makes a nice change from some of the recent chapters stuff. Obviously, with Angel's new and improved curse, the "post-slayage nap thing" became a lot more sans clothing than in canon. And for Joyce, the key difference here is that Buffy is *happy*. Which, in canon, she was not. I have no problem with what Joyce did in canon (even though it's still painful to watch Angel's expression while she's saying her bit), incidentally, but circumstances have veered off course here. She's had the opportunity to see Angel in a better light (figuratively speaking), Buffy has actually been confiding in her, and again, Buffy is happy. And then the lack of heart-breaking-ness in the sewer talk. Well, obviously. They're happy, they have a better support system, and they actually talk through their issues. Angel didn't even have enough brooding thoughts of relationship doom to have the bride-going-up-in-flames nightmare. The other changes are fairly straightforward, and once again, Wesley is on hand for some silliness. Also, nothing in canon ever said anything about Angel not being able to swing dance. He lived through the era. He had plenty of opportunities to see how it works. Vamp agility and reflexes can take care of the rest. It's valid. :P


	50. Torn Asunder

Bwaha, you didn't get me this time, Writer's Block! Well, okay, maybe a little. But not for long! Anyway, happy Year of the Tiger, all! For supreme cuteness on this subject, go here: HeWhoWalksWithTigers. deviantart. com/art/Happy-Year-of-the-Tiger-154034897 (take out the spaces). Now then, applause to everyone who caught the Andrew cameo in the last chapter (that was just fun), and on the subject of the interloper at the cliffhanger (whose identity many of you lovely reviewers also guessed), I would invite you to read on.

* * *

Buffy and Angel jumped apart and twisted to face the intruder. Leaning against the wall near the desk, his arms crossed, was a dark-haired man of fairly average build who, judging by his outfit, had even worse color-coordinating skills than Xander. Before they could say anything, he spoke up again, his attention on Angel. "You'd be Angel, I presume?" His blue eyes moved to Buffy next. "An' quite the lovely lady-friend ye've got there. The Slayer, if I'm not mistaken," he said with a courteous nod. Then his nonchalant expression changed to one of incredulity and resentment as his gaze fixed back on Angel. "I 'ave to say, though," he added, jerking his thumb in the direction of Angel's fridge, "I think they must've lied about ye bein' Irish, 'cause yer options as far as alcoholic beverages go are vastly disappointin'."

"Who are you?" Angel growled through clenched teeth.

"Whoa," said the man indignantly, holding up his hands, "can we ease off on the intimidation fer a mo'?"

Buffy and Angel watched him stonily. He stepped away from the wall and looked from one to the other. "The name's Doyle."

"And you're here because…?" said Buffy, arms folded across her chest.

"I've been sent," said Doyle with more than a touch of irony, "by the Powers that Be."

"The what?" asked Angel.

"Look, I don't exactly know," said Doyle. "Whoever they are, they seemed to think I'd make a good messenger. I get these…visions—meanin' great skull-crackin' migraines that come with pictures."

"You don't smell human," said Angel. "How do we know you and these 'Powers that Be' are the good guys?"

"Well, that's a bit like the pot callin' the kettle black, now, isn't it, vamp-man?" said Doyle indignantly. "An' it just so 'appens that I'm very much 'uman." He shuddered and wrinkled his nose, then sneezed violently. For a few seconds, his face turned green and was covered in blue spikes, but he quickly shook it off and his human appearance returned, slightly paler than before. "On my mother's side," he clarified. He glanced at Buffy, suddenly very tense.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Great," she said. "Half-demon, good guy. We've got it. Let's get back to what you're doing here."

"The matter more at hand is really what _he_'s still doin' 'ere," said Doyle, nodding at Angel.

Buffy and Angel both stared at him, taken aback, and Buffy, struggling to force down the feeling of unease that was beginning to well up within her, glanced quickly at Angel, who asked, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm fuzzy on the details—good thing, too, 'cause if the backstory visions'd been long enough to explain it all, they probably would've killed me—but I suppose ye might consider it a promotion."

"What?" said Buffy.

"'E was sent 'ere to help ye, and 'e did. Only thing is, ye can 'elp yerself now, but there're a lot of people out there who can't, and, funnily enough, a fair number of them can be found in the City of Angels."

"You're telling me I'm supposed to go to Los Angeles?" said Angel.

"The Slayer knows 'er way backward an' forward across the battlefield now," said Doyle. "Ye did what ye came 'ere to do. It's time to move on. She's a big girl, an' she's hero enough to handle this town on 'er own—an' ye've become hero enough yerself that someone upstairs thinks ye're ready to be the knight in shinin' armor fer someone else's kingdom."

The effect of his words on them was remarkably similar to that of an unexpected blow to the face.

"I'll just be off to the nearest pub while I let the two of ye think that over, then," said Doyle spiritedly into the stunned silence. With that, he left them there.

[o]

The heated passion that had rushed them to the apartment in each other's arms mere minutes ago had been quite thoroughly gutted by the unexpected visitor, and for what felt like a very long time, they simply stood frozen, staring blankly at the place where Doyle had been.

Angel was the first to snap out of it. He looked at the floor, the wall, his shoes, and finally, unwillingly, at Buffy. She still hadn't moved. "Buffy," he said, taking a step towards her.

Buffy jumped and looked around at him and swiftly away again, twisting her hands together in agitation. "I, um. I think I'd better get going," she told the wall as color flooded into her cheeks. "Mom, worrying, you know."

Angel's heart sank. Her excuse wasn't true and they both knew it. Joyce knew very well that their plan had been to spend most of the weekend together after prom. She might not have been delighted about it, but she hadn't voiced her objections. "Yeah," he said unhappily, eyes back on the floor, a hard lump in his throat. He winced when he heard the door shut behind her, the sound oddly magnified in his ears.

[o]

When Buffy got home, she was too dazed for it to occur to her to go in through her bedroom window (though, even if it had, her prom dress would probably have made it too complicated to be worth it anyway), with the result that Joyce, who had been cleaning the kitchen, heard her close the front door and came to investigate.

"Buffy, hi!" she said, surprised. "You're back earlier than I expected. Where's Angel?"

Buffy turned slowly to face her, unable muster the energy necessary to force a smile and pretend all was well.

Joyce saw Buffy's glum expression and her face fell. "Oh, honey, what's wrong?"

For a moment, Buffy didn't react at all. Then, without warning, she burst into tears.

Somehow, they managed to get from the front hall to the living room couch, where Joyce held Buffy while she cried into her shoulder.

[o]

To say that Willow was surprised when Mrs. Summers called her the morning after prom would be an understatement. Her shock turned instantly to concern, however, when Mrs. Summers explained what had happened when Buffy got home the night before. Twenty minutes later, Willow was at 1630 Revello Drive, where she was immediately sent to Buffy's room by her very worried mother.

Willow found Buffy curled up on her bed in her pajamas, her eyelids red and puffy. Buffy looked over at the door and sat up when she saw who was there. "Okay, I'm nominating her for the Best Mom Ever award," she said with a small, tremulous smile.

"Are you okay?" asked Willow, encouraged enough by Buffy's attempt at humor to move forward and sit on the end of the bed. "Your mom didn't say what was wrong."

"She doesn't know," said Buffy, shaking her head. "I was kind of in shock last night. I didn't know what to tell her."

"Is it Angel?"

Buffy only looked gloomily at her in response.

Willow's eyes widened in horror. "He's not bad again, is he? 'Cause I thought that couldn't happen anymore and—"

"No!" said Buffy, a little more loudly than she'd intended. "No, he's Angel. It's nothing like that."

"Oh," said Willow, relieved. Then she frowned, confused. "What is it, then? I mean, everything seemed fine yesterday."

"It was," said Buffy miserably.

"Did something happen?"

Buffy was silent for a moment, going over her memories of the previous night. "When Angel and I got to his place," she began slowly, "there was already someone there."

"What do you mean?" asked Willow, perplexed.

"It was this guy—Doyle, I think. He was waiting for us."

"How come?"

"He—he said that Angel's supposed to go to L.A.," said Buffy, her voice breaking slightly.

"Well, what did Angel say?" asked Willow, who couldn't imagine Angel doing anything that would take him farther than five miles away from her best friend.

"Nothing," said Buffy. "But neither did I, I mean, we were both too surprised."

"Have you talked to him yet?"

"No," Buffy sighed. "I need to."

[o]

After brief reflection, Wesley decided not to go to the library to practice the techniques Angel had been teaching him. He had no desire to make a spectacle of himself in front of Mr. Giles; the man's respect for him was already strained enough as it was. So, instead, he went to the mansion. He fully expected the place to be empty and was therefore quite astonished to find Angel there when he arrived, not to mention rather alarmed at the way he was pulverizing the punching bag. His ego sustained a considerable blow at the realization of just how much Angel held back when they sparred.

"Angel," he said cautiously.

No response. Angel only continued to lay into the punching bag—more ferociously than before, if that was even possible.

"Angel," said Wesley again, more loudly.

Still Angel didn't answer, but then a particularly violent strike sent the punching bag flying off its chain. It landed with a dull _thud_ several yards away. Though Angel was, as usual, completely devoid of such human signs of exertion as heavy breathing and perspiration, his posture was extremely rigid. It seemed that whatever tension he had been trying to let out would not be gotten rid of so easily. "You know anything about the Powers that Be?" he asked suddenly.

Wesley blinked, thrown off by the unexpected question. "Erm, a little, yes," he said. "I've run across the phrase a few times in my research. Specific information tends to be vague, but the general consensus is that they are a powerful, if somewhat removed, force of good. The most extensive reference I've seen proposes that they are, in fact, the very Powers that are ranked sixth in _De Coelesti Hierarchia_—that is to say, the hierarchy of angels. Pure speculation, of course, but quite intriguing, nonthele—" He stopped abruptly, catching the expression on Angel's face. He cleared his throat. "Er, why?" he asked sheepishly.

"Half-demon named Doyle was at my apartment last night. Said he works for them."

"Ah," said Wesley, frowning. "What did he want?"

"For me to go to L.A."

Wesley stared. "But…," he began, bewildered, "didn't that other fellow, Whistler, I believe, send you to Buffy?"

"Yeah," said Angel, beginning to pace. "That's why I need to know if this is real."

"I see. Why did this Doyle want you to go to L.A.?"

"To help people." He swallowed. "Because Buffy doesn't need me to fight alongside her anymore."

Wesley's eyes widened slightly as something clicked into place. "She was with you when he was there, wasn't she?"

Angel nodded. He walked over to the fallen punching bag and picked it up.

"Good Lord," Wesley breathed. "I don't imagine she took that particularly well."

"She went home," said Angel as he reattached the chain.

Wesley watched him sympathetically. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

* * *

I love writing Doyle. I think this is actually the first time I've ever had a chance to do so. Yay for Wesley and Willow being awesome best friends. Also, that thing Wesley said about the Powers and the hierarchy of angels is something I've been idly theorizing about for a while, and it was awesome to be able to actually fit it into one of Wesley's informative rants.

P.S. It was totally an accident that the Chapter of Extreme Angst landed on Valentine's Day. I'm not that mean. I do, however, find the irony rather amusing.


	51. Communication and Commuting

Ha! I have survived the first round of exams this semester. More writing can hopefully happen now. Enjoy!

* * *

For a while, neither Buffy nor Willow spoke. Buffy was sitting on top of the covers now, hugging her knees and staring at the bedspread with unfocused eyes.

"Do…do you think Angel's going to go?" asked Willow eventually, looking apprehensive.

"I don't know," said Buffy. "Doyle said there are lots of people who need him in L.A. So unless it was a trick and he's not really a good demon—"

"He's a demon?" Willow interrupted, alarmed.

"Half-demon," Buffy amended. "He sneezed, and his face went green with these blue spikes all over it," she said, waving a hand in front of her own face to illustrate. "But he seemed okay, except for the whole Worst Timing of the Century thing."

"What do you mean?" asked Willow, puzzled.

Buffy opened her mouth to answer, closed it again, and went red. Willow's eyes widened, and she went even redder than Buffy. "Oh. Uh. So, do you think Doyle could be a bad guy?" she said awkwardly.

"I don't know," said Buffy. "I guess we'll have to find out for sure before anything else happens, but I kinda think he's not. A bad guy, I mean."

"What are you going to do if Angel goes to L.A.?" asked Willow tentatively.

"L.A. isn't that far away," said Buffy. Her tone was both hopeful and uncertain. "Dad and I still see each other a lot even though he's there. Not as much lately, though, but—" She broke off, embarrassed. Willow averted her gaze, sensing Buffy's discomfort.

"I just—," Buffy began again after a few seconds, her voice suddenly rather brittle, "I was sort of planning on…on moving in with Angel after maybe a semester or two in the dorms."

"Oh, Buffy. I'm sorry," said Willow, scooting closer and putting a hand on one of Buffy's.

"I never talked to him about it. I was going to wait until after graduation." She rolled her eyes wearily. "If, you know, we make it."

Willow smiled weakly, but soon, the thought of what was going to happen at graduation settled over both of them like a black cloud. "Have Giles and Wesley found out anything else about the Ascension?"

"Not that I know of."

Willow nodded vaguely. "You should talk to Angel, Buffy. If things heat up with the Mayor, you might not get a chance to for a while."

[o]

"So, you think these Powers are legit?" said Angel. He threw a punch, which Wesley blocked.

"Well, if the theory about their being in the angelic hierarchy has any basis in fact, then I rather think they must be," said Wesley, while Angel parried his retaliatory strike. "And they must have done something to earn themselves the association, even if it isn't accurate. After all, they certainly fit the profile," he went on, barely managing to duck Angel's fist. "If Doyle is to be believed, they have a strong interest in destiny, which tallies with the alleged role of the angelic Powers, as does working indirectly through messengers." He paused thoughtfully. "Do you think Whistler could have been working for them as well?"

"It wouldn't surprise me," said Angel. He moved forward unexpectedly and swept one foot between Wesley's to trip him, but Wesley countered it with one of the moves Angel had taught him before the second half of the conversation began, and then Angel found himself flat on the cement floor. As Wesley had already landed himself in a similar position five times in the past few minutes, he didn't quite feel that he had earned bragging rights, so he held out a hand and pulled Angel up without commenting.

"I don't see why they didn't just send Whistler again, though," said Angel as if nothing had happened.

"Perhaps he's needed elsewhere," said Wesley. He attempted a roundhouse kick but unintentionally aimed it slightly higher than the limit of his abilities, with the result that he nearly fell over and Angel easily avoided it. "If Doyle is getting these visions on a regular basis, it implies that he will have to be on hand for an extended period of time. That might not be possible for someone like Whistler."

"Good point," said Angel.

"Do you intend to go, then?" asked Wesley.

Angel said nothing. They sparred without speaking for so long that Wesley thought he wasn't going to answer. But then, when Angel was helping him off the floor yet again, he said quietly, "If there are people there who really need my help, how can I stay?"

"And Buffy?"

"She's needed here."

They wrapped up the sparring match, and Angel resumed his pacing from before while Wesley toweled the sweat off his face and neck.

"You know," he said, smirking slightly, "the distance will be considerably smaller than when you were in the Council dungeons, and even then you and she weren't completely apart."

"What," said Angel staring hard at Wesley, "are you saying you think I can leave Sunnydale without leaving Buffy?"

Wesley snorted. "There are people who have longer commutes to _work_ than that, and they manage to get to their jobs and back every day. I imagine that all-consuming love would be a rather better incentive to make the trip than that."

Angel scowled at him for his slightly mocking tone, but felt considerably better about the whole thing all the same.

[o]

Faith felt full of restless energy. She liked being pampered by the Mayor, she really did, but she wished he would give her more work. All this luxury free time was putting her severely on edge. Taking out a vamp nest the other night (the vampires in question had spurned the Mayor's offer of employment) had helped, but not for long. With a noise of irritation, she threw her magazine aside and hopped down from the couch.

She didn't meet anything interesting on her way to City Hall—though, it being late afternoon with the sun still brightly shining, she hadn't expected much anyway. Two vamps were guarding the door to the Mayor's office. They leered at her. She made as though to lunge towards them, and they recoiled, terrified. She smirked and strode past them.

"Faith!" said the Mayor when he looked up from his desk and saw her. "What a pleasant surprise!"

She couldn't help smiling at him, but it didn't last long. "Boss, you've gotta give me a job," she said bluntly. "I'm going crazy sitting in the apartment."

The Mayor chuckled. "Actually, it's funny you should ask, because I've got two things I need you to do."

"More nests?" she asked hopefully, cracking her knuckles.

"Not quite," he said. He riffled through the stack of papers on his desk for a moment. Finding the one he needed, he leaned forward and passed it to Faith.

"Professor Lester Worth," she read in a snobby voice. Dropping that, she went on, looking up at the Mayor, "Who's he?"

"Someone who could give our enemies a lot of harmful information about me after the Ascension—though if everything goes according to plan, most of them will be part of the first course, but it's not a risk I'm willing to take."

"You want me to take him out?" asked Faith.

"That's right," said the Mayor, his eyes twinkling.

Faith tried to hide her sour expression but didn't have much success. Knocking off some old guy was definitely not her idea of the kind of intense, life-threatening assignment she'd been hoping for.

The Mayor seemed to know what she was thinking. "I know it might not seem very exciting, but that brings us to item number two."

Faith watched curiously as he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small phial containing a clear liquid, which he handed to her. "What's this?" she asked, rolling it around between her fingers and thumb.

"Poison," he said brightly. "Completely harmless to humans, but for vampires, well, that's another story."

"Why would I want to poison a vamp when I could just use a stake?" said Faith, nonplussed.

"Well, with a stake, it's all over in a second. No pain, no suffering, just _poof_! You use that poison, and it'll be a crippling, agonizing death that takes its time."

"So who's the lucky vamp?" asked Faith, intrigued.

[o]

After Buffy finished eating dinner with her mom (who was relieved that she seemed to be doing much better than she had the previous night), she went upstairs, intending to get ready to set off for Angel's apartment. However, when she got to her room, she discovered that such a trip would be quite unnecessary. Smiling, she made her way over to the window, climbed out, and sat next to him on the roof.

"I was just about to come and see you," she said.

"Oh," said Angel, looking just as relieved as Joyce by her tranquil mood, though also a little puzzled.

"So I guess we need to talk," said Buffy. She winced at her choice of words.

"Yeah."

No actual talking followed this exchange, and Buffy winced again. Just when she opened her mouth to try to fill the awkward silence, Angel spoke. "I'm going to go," he said.

Buffy turned to look at him. "Doyle's the real deal, then?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "At least, I think he is. So does Wes."

"Okay," said Buffy, looking away again, "I know I shouldn't get all selfish and clingy about this when there are lives at stake, but these Powers that Be guys—what makes them think they can just hijack a person's life like this?"

"Like they did to yours?" asked Angel. Buffy remained silent, but his words struck a very deep chord within her.

"I threw my life away when I was human, in more ways than one," he went on. "I forfeited the right to choose my own destiny—if any of us has that to begin with. I've spent less than a tenth of the time since I died doing something worthwhile, and more than half of it destroying every life I could in every way I could think of. After all those years, you were there. You gave me a reason. Now they're giving me a purpose. If they still want me to fight for them after everything I've done, then I will. I have a lot to atone for."

Buffy looked at him, then away. "I'm a better person than I was before I became the Slayer," she said thoughtfully. "Sometimes I think everything would be easier if someone else had been called instead. I mean, it's hard. I'm fighting for my life every other night and sometimes people still get hurt no matter what I do, but…almost everyone I love I have because of it. I'd still be in L.A. if I wasn't the Slayer, so I'd never have met Willow, Xander, or Giles." She found one of his hands and wove her fingers between his, then looked up into his eyes. "And I would never have met you, Angel. When I look back at how I was before…my life was so empty. I don't know how I could stand it. Maybe that's what this will be for you."

"My life isn't empty now," he said lifting his free hand to touch her face. "Both of our lives changed when you were called."

"And now they're both changing again," Buffy sighed. "I just—I wish our lives were our own."

"What would you do if they were?" asked Angel. "If you had no obligations, no responsibility."

Buffy thought about it. "Probably the same thing I'm doing now," she admitted, chuckling. Somehow, that was very good to know.

"So," said Angel in a casual tone that was tinged with playfulness, "Wes tells me the commute from L.A. to Sunnydale isn't bad."

A smile spread slowly across Buffy's features until it lit up her whole face. "I'll keep that in mind," she said.

* * *

Okay, on second thought, the way this chapter originally ended didn't really fit with the overall tone and kind of trivialized it, so I deleted the last sentence. Instead, I'm just going to leave off there, with the pair of them sitting side-by-side on Buffy's roof (for some reason, I really love that image).


	52. A Brit and an Irishman Walk into a Pub

HA! Finally got this done. The reason behind the long gap (apart from school and work and other fics, which are actually all very major reasons) was the daunting nature of the contents of chapter fifty-four--not this chapter, which was actually fairly easy to write. I didn't want to rush through the easy stuff only to smack my head on the solid wall of problematic content that is chapter fifty-four and have no room to maneuver. But now I've got it all worked out (well, mostly), so we're ready to resume play. That was the last major obstacle of the season, so with any luck, I'll actually be able to get this thing finished in the near future. Now then, enjoy!

* * *

Anxious to reassure himself that he had not given his friend bad advice, a fortnight after the prom, Wesley decided to seek out this Doyle character on his own. It wasn't until he left his apartment, however, that he realized that he had no idea where Doyle might be found, nor did he even know what he looked like. Annoyed at his own short-sightedness, he nevertheless thought he could try a couple of popular demon haunts to see if he could track him down before he would resort to enlisting Angel's help.

There were rather more vampires at Willy's when Wesley arrived than he had hoped would be there, and a few of them glanced in his direction as he made his way to the bar. He discovered to his enormous satisfaction that mentally reviewing his training sessions made it surprisingly easy to appear dignified and unaffected under their stares, rather than becoming the quivering jumble of nerves and false bravado he had been when he stopped vampire Willow from attacking Miss Chase.

"What can I get you?" asked Willy, walking towards him across the bar and setting aside the mug he'd been wiping clean.

"Actually, I was hoping you could help me find someone," said Wesley, keeping his voice low so as to hopefully prevent anyone from eavesdropping. "You wouldn't happen to have gained any, er, new patrons lately, would you?"

"Hey, business might not be booming, but it ain't exactly unusual to see a new face every now and then."

"Of course," said Wesley, "well, the one I'm looking for is a half-demon by the name of Doyle."

"Ye won't 'ave to look far," said a mildly amused voice from a few feet to his right. Wesley started and looked around. A black-haired man—Doyle, evidently, was looking at him with raised eyebrows. A small cluster of empty shot glasses sat on the counter in front of him, but his gaze was quite steady. "Judgin' by yer Queen's English and the amount of starch in that suit, I'd wager ye're vamp-man's Watcher friend."

"That I am," said Wesley curtly, unable to suppress a stab of indignation at the way Doyle seemed to view him as an object of satirical humor.

"Allen Francis Doyle," he said, sticking out his hand.

After a very brief pause, Wesley extended his own and they shook. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

"So, come to check out my story, eh? 'Bout time." said Doyle, taking a swig of whatever was in the large mug next to the shot glasses.

"Indeed I have."

Wesley and Doyle gave each other long, calculating looks while Willy glanced nervously from one to the other.

[o]

Faith left the apartment of the (as of now) late Professor Lester Worth only a few moments after she had entered it, filled with a chilling feeling of job satisfaction. If she had any reservations about killing an unarmed old man, they were quashed by the conviction that she only did it to protect the Mayor—a justification that she refused to admit was at complete odds with the sense of having and wielding untouchable power that the act had given her. She clenched her hands into fists. There was no actual blood on them this time; she had been very careful to avoid that.

[o]

Not even Willy, who had watched the whole thing and supplied the alcohol, quite understood how it had happened, but an hour later, Wesley and Doyle were both thoroughly drunk and laughing their heads off at a fairly mediocre joke one of them had just told, arms around each other's shoulders as if they'd been friends their whole lives. What Wesley intended to be a brisk interrogation had quickly mutated into a drinking competition and finally concluded with his jovially offering his own couch for Doyle to sleep on for the remainder of his stay in town.

On the whole, this was a much-improved situation for Doyle. First of all, he no longer had to expend his bordering-on-meager funds on a room at the cheapest hotel he'd been able to find in Sunnydale, but more importantly, Wesley had much better means than he did for dealing with hangovers from hell, as he himself had somehow lacked the presence of mind to pack for such eventualities when he was sent to bring Angel back to L.A.

The next morning—or, early afternoon, as was indicated by the clock on the wall—Wesley and Doyle could be found sitting across from each other at the former's tiny kitchen table, though "sitting" was perhaps not the most accurate word for it, as they were both slumping heavily against the tabletop in a stupor. Every so often, one of them would revive enough to drink a few gulps of either water or orange juice, or would shovel down some of the canned fish Wesley had dug out of the pantry—all as they waited for the extra strength headache pills to kick in.

"Now," said Wesley, wincing, "I'm not sure I remember much of anything we talked about at the pub."

"Be surprised if ye did," said Doyle groggily, attempting to smirk, "ye English lightweight."

Wesley couldn't muster the energy to find a snappy comeback, so he simply ignored the slight on his nationality. "Well, I offered you the sofa, so it would appear that I decided I could trust you."

"Been meanin' to say thank ye fer that. Sofa's a far cry better'n that crap mattress at the room I 'ad."

Wesley waved his hand vaguely as if to say, "It was nothing, old chap," nearly knocking over his orange juice in the process. "Did I get round to asking what kind of demon your demon half is?" He frowned, thinking that he probably would have been able to navigate that sentence better if he was fully sober.

"Brachen," Doyle grunted.

"Ah," said Wesley. He racked his brains, but nothing occurred to him except the increasingly familiar thought that he really shouldn't have had that last shot of whiskey.

To elaborate, Doyle obligingly caused his face to transform.

"Oh, yes," said Wesley, "Brachen, of course. Now I remember. A peaceful sort, though perhaps not the most popular amongst other demons."

"Not so much, no," said Doyle as his face reverted to its human appearance, his expression somewhat darker than before.

"He's going to go with you, you know. Angel, I mean."

"Really? Well, that's good. I was startin' to get a bit worried that I blew the sales pitch, an' I wasn't exactly lookin' forward to getting' the negative feedback on it from upstairs. Partly why I was at the pub to begin with."

"Yes, well, you should know that the situation here in Sunnydale is rather dismal at the moment, and I sincerely doubt that we can spare Angel until after Graduation Day. But that's not even a week off, now."

"Good enough to be gettin' on with."

Doyle's voice was slightly muffled by the surface of the table, which he was once again using as a pillow, but at his words, Wesley glanced at his watch and jumped out of his chair in alarm. "Oh dear, I'm late!" he cried, then let out a quickly stifled yelp as his head protested against his sudden movements with a particularly horrible throb of pain. "I was going to try my fencing skills against Mr. Giles!" he groaned, clutching his head in one hand while he searched for his briefcase.

"Have at it," said Doyle dully, his right hand drifting feebly towards his glass of water.

[o]

"Did you say Wes was hung over?" asked Angel incredulously.

"Yeah. Sounded like he and your vision guy are drinking buddies now," said Buffy, her lips twitching at the memory of how categorically Giles had won the fencing match because of it—despite the fact that most of his attention had been on the newspaper article about the murder of one Professor Worth at the time. "I guess that bodes well, trustworthiness-wise."

Angel nodded distractedly, looking mildly put-out about something. Glancing up from the stack of very professionally worded (and therefore impossible to understand) papers through which she had been riffling, Buffy caught sight of his expression and smirked. "What, are you sulking because Wesley didn't ask if you wanted to go too?" she teased.

"No," said Angel defensively, before he pulled a smirk of his own. "Besides, I would've turned him down anyway. I already had plans."

Buffy couldn't help blushing a little at this, but she asked sweetly, "So…does that mean you'd choose spending time with me over going drinking with the guys?"

"Every time."

Her bright smile in response only lasted a second before it gave way to a grimace, and she flapped one hand through the air in an aggravated sort of way. "Okay, moratorium on flirting until we're somewhere that's not a crime scene."

"You're right," said Angel, looking sheepish.

They quickly finished their search, hoping that Giles would be able to make something of the box full of volcano research. Buffy rolled her eyes at Angel's gallant insistence to be the one to carry the box, but didn't protest and led the way out past the police tape they had dislodged earlier.

"Do you know when you'll start looking for a place in L.A.?" she asked when they reached the street.

"Thought I'd save it until after graduation," said Angel. "Once this thing with the Mayor is over." He looked at her and realized what she was really asking. "Want to help?"

Buffy beamed at him, then reverted to her teasing tone from before. "Well, yeah, I mean—someone's got to make sure you don't get some completely not girl-friendly basement with no mirrors or places for me to put my stuff."

Angel seemed to wilt. "I thought you liked my apartment," he said. He looked so much like a wounded puppy that Buffy took pity on him at once.

"I'm kidding," she said. "I do like it." And she did, a lot. The decor definitely wasn't what she would have picked herself, but it was just so completely Angel that it was impossible for her not to love it. "I am serious about the mirrors, though. As much as I love when you tell me my scary bed hair looks great, that's something a girl always has to see to believe."

Angel chuckled. "Okay, I promise I'll take you with me, and I won't get a place without mirrors. Happy?"

Buffy turned to him to reply in the affirmative, but the words died in her throat. Angel lurched slightly where he stood, and they both looked down at the six inches of wooden arrow shaft protruding from his chest.

* * *

*dramatic chord* Okay, I know Buffy and Angel's conversation was maybe a touch lighthearted for the investigation of a murder scene for which Faith was responsible, but as we all know from our experience with the Jossverse, sudden badness is much more jarring and painful when it interrupts unsuspecting contentment. And they'll have plenty of time to agonize over Faith's role in all of this later on, anyway. But really, what I love about this chapter is Wes and Doyle's hangover conversation.


	53. Necator Mortuorum

I probably would have finished this earlier, but then I got slightly distracted by issue 34 of the season eight comics. Still, just over a week is much better than the gaps between the last few chapters! Anyway, enjoy! (Oh, and this picks up exactly where chapter 52 left off, so you may need to reread the last couple of paragraphs of that one to get your bearings).

* * *

To Buffy, time seemed to freeze. She experienced an interminable moment full of shock and uncomprehending horror, and then Angel fell forward into her arms and reality came crashing back in. The box had dropped to the pavement, its contents scattering across the street. The people walking down the sidewalk had stopped, faces full of uncertainty and concern. All Buffy could think was that Angel wasn't dust, but that arrow…it must have missed his heart by mere millimeters, and she'd never been more terrified in her life.

She would never remember how she'd managed to summon the presence of mind to gather the papers back into the box before she began to help a very unsteady Angel make it the several blocks to the high school.

"Dear God, what happened?!" came Wesley's voice almost the second they entered the library. Both he and Giles quickly abandoned their books and came towards them. Then he spotted the arrow. "Who did this?" he demanded.

"Faith," said Buffy. She held the box out to Giles. "Professor Worth's stuff," she said. Giles took the box while Wesley promptly moved to Angel's other side to support some of his weight, and together, he and Buffy soon got him to a chair. Then he was off again to retrieve the first aide kit and a knife.

"How can you be sure it was Faith?" he asked when he returned, passing Buffy the first aide kit and going to work on the arrow with the knife, just above the fletching.

"Who else would've been lying in wait that close to Lester's place?" asked Angel through clenched teeth. He held perfectly still while Wesley cut through the arrow shaft, suppressing the urge to wince with difficulty as sharp pain jolted through the wound and radiated outward with every jerk of the arrow, no matter how slight. Buffy did the wincing for him as she waited for Wes to finish, which he did a few seconds later.

"Okay," she said, gripping the arrow tightly close to his chest, "On three. One—" In one swift movement, she pulled it out.

Angel let out the hiss of pain he'd been holding in, then chuckled. "I knew you were gonna do that."

Buffy smiled rather reluctantly, and Angel sat still again so she and Wesley could begin cleaning the entrance and exit wounds. Giles soon drew their attention to the things he was learning from Professor Worth's reports.

Angel tried to focus on what the others were saying and participate in the conversation, which seemed very important, but it was difficult. He was feeling oddly lightheaded, and his left shoulder tingled unpleasantly, as if it was going…numb? He couldn't understand it; he had no circulation to begin with. What was more, his skin was starting to feel tight, clammy, and warm.

When Buffy had finished sponging away the blood and helped him back to his feet, it became apparent that something was very wrong. He swayed as the room spun sickeningly, and he couldn't focus on Buffy's alarmed features. The next thing he knew, he was sprawled across the floor, his strength completely gone, his bones aching, and every muscle in his body that wasn't currently numb feeling as if it had been mercilessly beaten.

[o]

"Should we phone the Council?" asked Wesley uncertainly. "They do have all the known toxins on file."

Giles glanced up from the poisoned arrow at the younger Watcher, who was pacing restlessly around the library. They had just returned from taking Angel to his apartment, where Buffy had remained, and it would only be a matter of time before the others arrived to help them research. "You know that the poison will be the least of our concerns if they discover what you intend to do with their information."

Wesley scowled. "They never found out what I was doing in Romania when I went there on research leave, and they won't find out about this now. Though I'm not sure I'd be quite as averse to letting slip what Faith's been up to for the past couple of months."

Giles was momentarily shocked by the implications of Wesley's remark, not to mention the strength of the bitter anger behind it, but he had to agree that Faith's actions had been consequence-free for far too long. And if Faith had been the only issue at hand, he wouldn't have lifted a finger to stop Wesley from turning her over to the Council. Unfortunately, however, she knew quite a lot about Buffy and her relationship with Angel, and had already proven that she would betray that information in an instant if her own situation was threatened, so Giles couldn't allow Wesley's wrath over what she had done to Angel cloud his reason.

"Telling them about Faith would bring them here very quickly," he said, "but how would you propose to keep them away from Buffy once they're in town? Do you disagree that they would want to investigate what aspect of your methods as Watcher led to Faith's actions, and whether Buffy has suffered any negative influence as well?" At Wesley's highly affronted expression, he went on quickly, "_I_ respect your methods and openness very highly, and you've been doing quite a lot to counteract your lack of experience."

Wesley blinked, clearly unsure whether to be offended or flattered.

"Faith made her own choices," Giles continued, "and I certainly wouldn't presume to hold them against you, particularly when my own influence over her was not much less than yours, but you can't expect the Council to take the knowledge of a murdering Slayer lightly. Nor can you expect Faith to remain silent about Buffy and Angel if they apprehended her. Even if she deserves their retribution, she wouldn't be the only one to receive it."

Wesley dropped heavily into one of the chairs around the table in a defeated sort of way. "You're right. Perhaps they'll at least be able to tell us what we need to know about the poison."

"You plan to give them the impression that you have an infected vampire in custody and wish to study the source of his ailment further, yes?" said Giles shrewdly.

"Well, I can hardly admit to them that I'm trying to find a way to cure the vampire they think Buffy killed in January," said Wesley in a slightly aggravated tone.

"True," Giles agreed, "but can you be certain that they won't be so intrigued by your version of events that they'll want to take matters into their own hands?"

"But how are we to find out how to cure Angel without going to them?" asked Wesley in distress.

"I think you underestimate our resources," said Giles with a small smile.

[o]

Buffy did not take the news that they couldn't risk asking the Council for help well. She had spent the last hour with Angel, trying to keep him comfortable while his condition steadily worsened. The mood it left her in was not forgiving. "What's the point of working for these guys when all they do is sit on their hands halfway around the world, except when they feel like locking me in a house with a vampire?!" she demanded angrily. It didn't matter that the vampire in question had been Angel, because it wasn't as if the Council would have used him if they'd known more about their history together anyway. "Why should I follow their orders if they aren't going to help me when I need it, and when I have to hide the most important person in my life from them to keep us _both_ safe?"

Wesley had no answer. He had been asking himself similar questions ever since his conversation with Mr. Giles.

"Call the Council," said Buffy. Her voice had returned to a normal conversational volume now, but the coldness in it was worse than if she was still shouting. "Tell them I'm done being their pawn. They can close up shop until the next Slayer shows up." With that, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the library, keen on helping Willow and the others with their ongoing research in the chemistry lab.

[o]

In different circumstances, Buffy knew she would have found the rosy sort of glow on Willow's countenance (and the less obvious, but still discernable glow on Oz's) highly intriguing and deserving of much discussion, but she had no emotion or attention to spare except for a small twinge of regret that the present situation was robbing her of the chance to fill this important best friend function.

"Did you find anything?" she asked.

"Finding the poison wasn't that hard," said Willow quietly. "It's a mystical compound. The Latin name translates roughly as 'Killer of the Dead'. Used on vampires."

Buffy felt a rush of hope. "And the cure?"

Willow's expression was sympathetic but devoid of optimism. "There aren't a lot of instances of it being cured."

"But there are some," Buffy pressed.

"One or two," said Willow. "Pretty vague accounts." She hesitated, then asked gently, "How is he?"

Buffy couldn't meet her eyes, much less answer her question. It was all she could do to keep from breaking down on the spot. Angel was dying.

"Hold it," said Oz unexpectedly, his eyes still on his book.

"You got something?" asked Xander, while Buffy clutched the edge of the table so tightly that it was in some danger of breaking.

"I'm not sure...," said Oz, his brow furrowing as he read the page more closely.

"_Be_ sure," said Buffy.

He was, and what he had discovered wasn't pretty. It took some work to get it out of him. "The only cure for this thing is to drain the blood of a Slayer."

Buffy stared at him blankly for a moment, then nodded. "Good."

"Good?" Xander repeated incredulously. "What'd I miss?

"No, it's perfect," said Buffy. "Angel needs to drain a Slayer? I'll bring him one."

"Buffy," said Willow, "if Angel drains Faith's blood it'll kill her."

"Not if she's already dead."

[o]

It didn't take long for Willow, Oz, and Xander to find Faith's address. Xander briefly tried to get Buffy to think about what she was doing, but she'd already thought about it. Faith had been the one to shoot Angel in the first place, so she had no reservations in choosing him over her if only one of them got to live.

The address and Faith's dagger in hand, she made to leave the library, only to find her way barred by Wesley.

"You're not going to stop me, Wes," she said.

"Quite the contrary," he said. "I want to come with you."

Buffy shook her head. "This is between me and her."

"You and Faith are evenly matched—"

"But you're not. I know you want to help Angel as much as I do, but you go up against Faith, you're only going to get hurt. Or worse."

Wesley swallowed and looked at the floor.

"I'm sorry," said Buffy, and she obviously meant it. "Thanks for offering. It means a lot. I just can't take the chance that she'll hurt anyone else I care about. I have to do this alone." She paused until he looked back into her eyes, then said imploringly, "Look after him until I get back. I shouldn't be long."

Leaving Wesley standing there, worry and a small amount of bitter disappointment on his face, Buffy didn't regret her decision not to let him come with her. Despite what she had said, she knew it was very possible that Wesley's help could make her task much easier—but then, if "easy" was her first priority, she could simply use a gun. That thought made her shudder. No, it had to be one-on-one, and it had to be a fair fight. Even the dagger would be a last resort.

* * *

I'm not writing the Buffy vs. Faith fight scene. I can't compete with canon's version of it and I'm not going to try. If you want to see it, here it is: www. youtube. com/watch ?v=lCZ9ZgPolmA (get rid of the spaces). There might be a less crappy video of it somewhere...I know Hulu has all of season three right now, so you could watch it there. The only thing that might have been different from canon is the dialogue, but not by enough to justify writing the whole scene. Also, Doyle's still hungover at Wesley's apartment. He would have made this chapter unnecessarily complicated, and all he's interested in is getting Angel to L.A. He's not looking to be part of the Scooby gang.


	54. Om Nom Nominous

I am very proud of this chapter. Even though its title kind of makes me the biggest dork ever. *shrug* I hope you like it.

* * *

It was odd. As Buffy climbed down from the roof, she barely felt her injuries from the fight. The image of her own hand plunging the dagger into Faith's stomach flashed across her mind, and she flinched away from it. Faith was probably dead by now, but it was for nothing. It wouldn't help Angel.

She hadn't felt this way after Ted. There had been horror then—horror, confusion, and crippling remorse. Now she felt empty. Numb. She had killed, and she had failed. But Angel wasn't going to die. Faith or no Faith, that was not an option. She knew what would happen next. It was as if she'd known it from the second the arrow struck him, and somehow, she preferred it this way.

Her sense of her surroundings was so vague that it was as if she had faded away at Faith's apartment and rematerialized at the staircase leading down to Angel's without traveling the distance between them at all.

Wesley emerged as she was descending the steps. The flash of hope that lit his features when he saw who was there died the moment he registered her expression. There was a brief silence as he took in her split lip and the bruises beginning to blossom across her skin.

"Faith?" he asked, if only to have his suspicions confirmed.

Buffy shook her head. She looked at the door, then back at Wesley. "How is he?"

In the pause before he answered, Wesley seemed to age several years. "Worse. Willow, Oz, and I have tried to keep him comfortable, but it hardly seems to be making a difference. For the most part, he's been unconscious but agitated. In the rare moments when he's been awake, he's had trouble recognizing any of us. I don't—" He broke off and swallowed before continuing, though his voice was still rather hoarse and he could no longer meet Buffy's gaze. "I don't think it'll be much longer now."

Buffy nodded absently. "Would it be okay if—" It was something of a struggle for her to focus on Wesley's face as she spoke. "I-I'd like to be alone with him."

Wesley bowed his head and moved aside for her without hesitation. He felt a fleeting urge to put his arms around her, but then it was gone. Instead, he simply touched her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting way. She paused, and for a second covered his hand with hers, but then she had gone inside and closed the door behind her.

Alone in the hallway, Wesley leaned against the wall and tried to fight off the legions of miserable truths bearing down on him. The truest friend he'd ever had in his life lay dying through that door, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it, nor was there anything he could do for the girl who loved him. Furthermore, Angel's attacker hadn't been some random nameless, faceless enemy—it had been Faith. This was particularly painful. As Faith's Watcher, he, Wesley, was supposed to have been her mentor and guide, and how much had his failure cost? At least two lives, soon to be three. Surely there was something he could have done to stop this from happening, but he hadn't. The Mayor would Ascend in less than twenty-four hours. Even with the knowledge they had gained from Anya and Professor Worth's report, they were no closer to knowing how to actually stop the Mayor from destroying the city in his demon form, and they would soon be left without one of their strongest fighters and with the remaining one severely hindered by grief. All around, prospects had never looked grimmer.

The sound of the lock clicking brought him back to the present, and the realization of what Buffy truly meant to do went through him like an electric shock. His first instinct was to throw himself at the door and attempt to stop her. His hand was inches from the doorknob when he remembered the look on her face and drew back, feeling worse than ever. He knew that she would not be stopped. All he could do was wait here and hope and pray that, this time, he would not have cause to regret his own inaction.

A moment of clarity came to him as he stood in that gloomy hall—one that had been forming in the back of his mind since Angel was poisoned. He couldn't keep pretending to the Council that he was still their man. He hadn't been that since the day he took over Smith's duties in the dungeon. In the aftermath of Buffy's mutiny, there would hardly be any point in staying anyway—assuming any of them lived long enough for it to matter. He could not in good conscience continue in the employ of men who had done what they did to Angel, who would undoubtedly consider Buffy a worse traitor to her calling than Faith for her relationship with him—and that was without even considering her reasons for locking the door. He shuddered to think what would happen to her if they ever found out about _that_—if she even lived through it, that was.

Quentin, his father, all of the rest of them—they were little more than blind old fools clinging desperately to tradition, unable to grasp the possibility that they might not have all of the answers or that their authority was based on the presumption that their knowledge gave them the right to control the existence a teenage girl.

He was _not_ one of them.

[o]

The sight of Angel in his current condition was like physical pain for Buffy, but it was a pain that only strengthened her resolve. She walked the remaining distance and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb him too much by the movement. She found the hand that was lying closest to her, took it in both of hers, and brought it to her lips to place a gentle kiss upon the knuckles, just beside his ring. At the same time, she couldn't help but remember weeks ago when she had woken up to him doing the same at her bedside when she was recovering from her unpleasant foray into telepathy. The recollection made her smile. Cradling his hand over her heart with her left, she moved her right to touch his face.

He stirred. "Buffy," he whispered. "It's you." It wasn't a question, but he still didn't sound completely certain. He squinted up at her through what looked like a haze of pain and exhaustion.

"It's me," she said.

"I didn't…want to go without seeing you," he said, clearly struggling to form words. She put a finger over his lips to keep him from going on.

"Angel, I can cure you," she said. He looked confused. She sighed. "Here, sit up," she said, and when he winced with the effort to comply, she helped him.

"You're going to live," she told him firmly, her voice cracking a little. "You _have _to live."

Angel shook his head, looking even more confused. "What…?"

Buffy shrugged off her jacket and tossed it aside. "Drink," she said, looking him straight in the eyes. He stared back, uncomprehending but now slightly afraid. "Drink _me_."

His eyes widened in shock and horror. "No," he said, shaking his head more violently.

"It's the only way," she said calmly.

"No," he repeated. "Get away!" He tried to put more distance between them, but she had deliberately cut his exit off with where she had chosen to sit, and she further prevented his escape by swiftly moving over and straddling him.

"It'll save you," she said.

"It'll kill you," he protested, still trying to escape, but to no effect, because his back soon met the wall, leaving him with nowhere to go.

"Maybe not," she said. "Not if you don't take it all."

"You can't ask me to do this."

"The blood of a Slayer is the only cure."

"Faith—"

"I tried," said Buffy. "I killed her." Voicing that fact aloud wrenched at her insides painfully, but she couldn't let it distract her now.

"Then it's over," he said. He tried to push her off, but he was no match for her in his weakened state, and she would not be moved.

"Angel, please," she said, and now tears were beginning to blur her vision. "I can't lose you again. I could barely handle it last year and we're so much closer than we were then. I can't watch you die when I know I can save you."

He had no reply to that, but he wouldn't have been able to voice one even if he did, because she had chosen that moment to kiss him. It was tender but brief.

Buffy couldn't help remembering the night she died. But this couldn't have been more different than when the Master bit her, in those moments beforehand when she knew it was going to happen. She had cried then, too, but those had been tears of terror and despair that the price for her stupid mistake would be much higher than her life alone. Fear had held her completely paralyzed then. The only fear she felt now was at the idea of Angel dying. It was unendurable. It had been hard enough to live with herself for damning him to save the world; living with the knowledge that she could have saved him but didn't would be impossible.

"I trust you," she said, and her face wasn't the only one streaked with tears now. "Please."

She kissed him again, more forcefully. The cut on her lip reopened with the pressure and began to bleed afresh. She knew that if their first kiss on its own had been enough to bring out his demon, this additional incentive would not fail to do the same now. Sure enough, she felt his teeth transform from blunt to deadly sharp the instant her blood reached his tongue. His body went rigid, but she could tell that his resistance was flagging. Even though he was attempting to push her away, he hadn't broken off the kiss.

Despite her unyielding determination, she couldn't help hating herself for the way she was manipulating him. She couldn't live with the idea of not saving him, but she was forcing him to live with the possibility of killing her to save himself. She knew how she would respond if he asked that of her, but it wasn't enough to make her relent. He had to live. He _had_ to.

"_Let me save you_…," she breathed against his lips. After kissing them once more, she moved the strap of her tank top out of the way, tipped her head to the side, and pulled him forward until she could feel his mouth on her neck. At the same time, she pressed herself as close to him as she could get and wound her fingers though his short hair, seeking both to entice and to reassure. Her heart was beating wildly now, and as much to calm her own nerves as to soothe his, she clung to him more tightly and began to drop a series of fleeting kisses from his shoulder to the particularly sensitive spot she knew was just below his ear.

It was enough. He let out a groan—half in protest, half in longing. His arms went around her to pull her even closer and he bit down. Hard.

* * *

And with that, I flee! Before the subtext has a chance to become text!


	55. Donor

Check it out! I'm totally on a roll this month! I suppose it helps that there's been a lull in the intensity of my schoolwork lately.

* * *

The taste was beyond incredible. He was in heaven. He had to be—there was no other explanation for something this perfect. He had known it would be like this long before her kiss offered him that first taste, and he couldn't remember why he had tried to refuse, or how he had resisted the temptation this long. Then again, perhaps the love she had for him and the fact that she gave her blood freely were what made it taste this way, because that had certainly never happened before, not in all of his years as a vampire. The idea that it was only because she was a Slayer, that Faith's blood would have been the same, was absurd.

The very small part of his mind that was still aware of his surroundings registered dimly that they had moved—rolled, so that she was trapped beneath him, though he couldn't recall when that had happened. Buffy had offered no hint of resistance—on the contrary, she continued to hold onto him as if her life depended on it, even though the opposite was currently true. If he had been capable at that moment of thinking about anything besides the unbelievable taste and power of her blood, the realization of how much she must be forcibly repressing her Slayer instincts to let him do this would have brought him to his knees.

He could feel the living fire from her veins eradicating the diseased heat of the poison in his own as it swept through them. Pain vanished and strength and feeling returned with every swallow, and they didn't stop when they reached the levels to which he was accustomed. But her grip on him was weakening more and more the stronger he became, and the temperature of her skin was falling as his rose. When her arms finally dropped limply from around him, his reason ground back into action with surprising force.

Nothing in Angel's entire existence had ever been as difficult as it was to pull away from her then, but he did it, and for a moment he was too bewildered by everything that had just happened to do more than lie there next to her. But that moment only lasted as long as the space between her heartbeats—a space that was far too long. Panic filled him and he sprang into motion. Within seconds he had donned shoes, shirt, and jacket, then burst out of the apartment with Buffy draped across his arms. He didn't even notice Wesley standing there as he took the stairs in two bounds and sprinted out into the night, her far too faint heartbeat in his ears as he hoped with everything in him and prayed to whoever might be listening that he would make it to the hospital in time.

[o]

Wesley was still standing frozen in the hall outside the apartment when Willow and Oz returned with coffee and apple turnovers. The sight of them jolted him out of his daze, and he accepted his share of their loot without thinking.

"How's Angel?" asked Oz.

"Have you heard anything from Buffy yet?" Willow added.

"The hospital," said Wesley, but the words were barely comprehensible. He winced and cleared his throat with some difficulty, for it had grown painfully dry and stiff in the time since Buffy had entered the apartment. He tried again. "Angel took Buffy to the hospital. We should go."

"What?" squeaked Willow. "What happened? Did Faith hurt her before she could bring her here?"

He couldn't answer, but Willow barely seemed to notice through her panic. Oz gently led her back out to his van. Wesley climbed into the back and then they were off. Giles and Xander arrived at the hospital mere seconds after they did, and Angel came to meet them. Despite being obviously cured, Wesley thought Angel looked dreadful. In fact, Angel's expression was the same as the one he had worn right after he won the Council's tournament all those months ago.

Wesley stood slightly apart from the group as Angel haltingly answered their questions about what had happened and told them that Buffy was asleep, recovering. He could understand the horrified expressions of Willow, Oz, and Mr. Giles, but Xander's blatantly hostile remarks caused little spikes of irritation and dislike to shoot through him. Buffy was going to be fine, and Angel obviously didn't need help feeling distraught over what he had done; was it entirely necessary to kick him when he was down? Somewhat harshly, Mr. Giles told Angel he ought to leave before the sun came up, and despite his reluctance, he obeyed.

"Gosh, I'm gonna miss him when he leaves town," said Xander before Angel was out of earshot. After shooting the boy a disgusted glare, Wesley turned and followed Angel out, feeling the surprised gaze of Mr. Giles on his back as he left.

[o]

It was Giles's turn to visit Buffy in her room, which left Willow, Oz, and Xander to wait in the hall.

"Does Buffy's mom know?" Willow asked to break the silence.

"Buffy sent her out of town until after graduation," said Xander.

"D-do you think we should call her?"

"Buffy's gonna be fine," said Oz in an even voice that somehow managed to convey reassurance, though perhaps that element came from the way he intertwined his fingers with Willow's and gave them a small squeeze. "She probably doesn't want her mom coming back yet. She can tell her after we're finished with the Mayor, if she wants to."

"Yeah," said Willow, relaxing a little.

"Man, I really wish I had a stake right now," said Xander abruptly.

"I don't think the cafeteria here serves steak," said Willow in a confused voice, but then comprehension dawned. "Oh." After a second's pause, her brow furrowed and she looked indignantly at her best friend. "Hey, don't say that!"

"Why the hell not?" Xander demanded angrily. Oz moved closer to Willow and the muscles in his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Noticing this, Xander backed off very slightly before he spoke again. "He drank Buffy's blood to save himself. He almost killed her!"

"He didn't do it because he wanted to," said Willow reproachfully.

"_He _says," scoffed Xander.

"Well, people donate organs to people they love to save them all the time," said Willow. "It's the same thing."

"Yeah, but they don't make them perform the operation themselves," said Xander.

Willow raised her eyebrows. "And that's exactly what happened. Buffy _made_ him do it."

Oz smirked slightly, but Xander was not pleased at having walked right into Willow's logic trap.

"You didn't see him when he was sick, Xander," she went on. "He could barely move, and he was sort of out of his mind most of the time. How was he supposed to force Buffy to do anything she didn't want to do? Also, he didn't even know that Slayer blood was the cure, and he thought _I_ was Buffy at one point, and all he did was say how much he loves her and that he was sorry he would have to leave. Besides, couldn't you see how horrible he felt when he told us what happened? He never would have done it if he'd been strong enough to stop it."

"But why would Buffy do that?" asked Xander, almost more angrily than before.

"She loves him," said Willow simply. "Why do you think she ran away last summer?"

It was this indirect reminder of the lie Xander had told and its consequences that finally got through to him. "Fine," he said grudgingly after a few seconds. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Nobody likes it," said Oz. "We're just glad they're both okay."

[o]

Wesley wasn't surprised that Angel went to the mansion instead of his apartment, which would surely be too fresh and painful of a reminder of the night's events to deal with. He was, however, slightly alarmed to find him pacing restlessly across the great room and running his hands repeatedly through his hair when he arrived there ten minutes after him. He looked like he was about to explode from all the energy trapped inside him, and the fact that that energy had come from Buffy's blood probably wasn't doing his sanity any favors—nor that his options for releasing that energy had just been severely curtailed by the rising sun. Wesley was about to suggest that Angel try venting a little on the punching bag when he noticed that the chain that had held it was empty, and its remains were already strewn across the floor for several yards in each direction.

"What did she tell you before she went in?" Angel asked, and the suddenness of the question nearly made Wesley jump.

"She wanted to see you. Naturally, I let her in. I had no idea what she…what she intended to do until I heard the lock click."

"But you knew then?!" A loud growl tore from Angel's throat, and the next second, he had slammed Wesley up against the wall. "Why the hell didn't you stop her?!" he bellowed, not even noticing that his face had changed.

Even with Angel's hand closed painfully around his throat and his demonic and rather deranged face inches from his own, Wesley's expression hadn't altered in the slightest. Angel found this infuriating. Wesley should be afraid. Horrified, like the others had been. How could he look so calm when he knew exactly what he, Angel, was capable of doing to the woman he loved? How could a Watcher have let his Slayer sacrifice herself like that?

"Do you really think _I_ could have stopped her?" said Wesley coldly. "_You _couldn't stop her! Perhaps I should have tried, though, if this is any indicator of how you're going to treat her when she gets out of that hospital."

Angel's eyes widened. His vampiric features faded back into human ones as shame replaced blind rage. He let his arm drop to his side and backed away from Wesley, head bowed.

"That girl was willing to kill _and_ die to save you," said Wesley, rubbing his throat gingerly. "Only by the most fortunate and improbable of chances, she didn't actually manage to do either, and yet here you stand, whole. If you really have the gall to minimize what she gave to put everything right, then perhaps you aren't as well worth saving as she thought. It's done and you're both still alive, so I would recommend that you put away your self-hatred and blame, and let appreciation and humility be the order of the day, as they should." He drove his words home with a challenging glare before abruptly turning and stalking out of the mansion, closing the door behind him with an echoing bang.

* * *

I really didn't expect to write anything more of the bite scene, but then that Angel's POV bit up there just kind of *happened* out of nowhere, and it was pretty much perfect. So, yeah, the canon stuff at the hospital, like Angel confronting the Mayor and Faith being in a coma--that all still happened offscreen. I can't decide whether I like Willow's conversation with Xander or Wesley's conversation with Angel better. Oh, and I should probably clear this up before I get any closer to the end, since some of you have already been asking about it: I do not intend to write a sequel. Unless I can think of how to make later canon substantially different in ways other than Buffy and Angel not splitting up, which I haven't at this point, there isn't enough incentive to do it, particularly when I've got so many other unfinished projects to work on and "The Slayer and His Vampire" has been on hold for more than half a year specifically because of this one.


	56. Uncharted Territory

So close to being done. Mustn't succumb to Writer's Block.

* * *

Wesley didn't understand. He had no idea what it had been like. How close he had come to losing control completely and draining every last drop of blood from her body. How much part of him had _enjoyed_ doing that to her. How many of the dark fantasies from when he had no soul had been fulfilled. How much better was he, really, than his soulless counterpart? Was there a difference? It wasn't the first time he had wondered. If Wesley knew he was wondering again, he'd probably still be here shouting at him.

Angel thought of Buffy, of all their time together, of the way she looked at him, and suddenly he had an answer. The difference was everything she had given him. Her acceptance, her love, her trust, her body, her blood—almost her life. Angelus had received none of them—had not, in fact, even received so much as a smile—and had failed to take any of them by force, but with his soul, Angel had been given them all freely and without reservation, and he was capable of giving of himself in return.

Was he too blinded by his past, by his literal demon, to see what she saw in him? Could it be that Buffy knew him better than he knew himself? That she knew what he had not: that no matter how difficult it was and how strong his perverse enjoyment, he would force himself to stop drinking before it was too late? Whether that was true or whether she was simply willing to die to save him, the implication was staggering.

He felt awed and humbled that someone so good and pure could think him worthy of such unconditional love. He remembered how she had been the white light that saved him from Hell in his dreams, and he couldn't fault the comparison. She truly was like sunlight, and she had chosen to shine on him. He decided right there that he would accept her gift and do everything in his power to live up to her faith in him, whether that meant fighting alongside her in Sunnydale or on his own in Los Angeles.

[o]

Buffy's mind was too full of the dream or subconscious encounter or whatever it had been with Faith for her sterile, unfamiliar surroundings to surprise her when she opened her eyes. Slowly, she got up and walked around the partition, then stopped beside the other bed. She took in the many bruises on Faith's face, then the reassuring rise and fall of her chest with each breath. The jumble of emotion she had been suppressing ever since Faith let herself fall backward off the roof seemed to drain away as she bent forward and gently kissed her fellow Slayer's forehead. Faith was still alive. She hadn't killed her after all.

With this knowledge, Buffy felt like an enormous load had been taken from her shoulders. She changed quickly out of her hospital gown and back into her regular clothes, her thoughts turning now to Angel. Something more than logic was telling her that he was all right, that her blood had cured him. It was almost as if he was right beside her. She wasn't sure where this was coming from, but it was immeasurably comforting.

When she walked out into the hall a minute later, she found a welcoming committee waiting for her.

"Buffy!" cried Willow, jumping up from her chair and stepping forward anxiously. The others looked around and immediately moved toward her too.

"Are you okay?" asked Xander, staring at her intently.

"How do you feel?" said Giles.

Buffy looked around, not really listening. "Is Angel here?" she said. She was surprised not to see him; she could have sworn that she…that she…_felt_ him nearby. But no—she should have realized: he was at the mansion. She blinked. How did she know that?

"He had to go," said Oz. "Got kinda sunny."

Buffy nodded and forced herself to remain in the present. "Get him. Get everyone."

"What exactly is up?" said Xander warily.

"Buffy, are you sure you're all right?" asked Giles in some concern.

"I'm ready," said Buffy.

"Ready for what?" asked Willow, confused.

"War."

[o]

Back at the library, they were soon joined by Angel, Wesley, and Cordelia. When Buffy's eyes met Angel's, the wound on her neck tingled beneath the bandages, though not in an unpleasant way. It was the same feeling she'd had before, except that now it had intensified and localized. She was beginning to suspect that she knew what it meant. She longed for an opportunity to speak to him alone, and she didn't want to wait until after the battle. His expression told her he'd been doing a lot of brooding since he left the hospital. He also seemed like he wanted to look away in fear of what her reaction to seeing him might be, but couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes from her. She smiled, and could practically see the tension leave him before she began to tell the gang her plan.

It was a plan that required a lot of preparation, and they had very little time in which to do it, but everyone threw themselves into their tasks with great determination. By two-thirty in the afternoon, the library was emptied of Giles's collection and rigged with several vanloads of explosives. Buffy returned from Faith's apartment to see the final stages nearing completion. Every surface in Giles's office that had previously held his personal effects was now covered with weapons that were soon to be distributed to the members of the senior class. After glancing briefly at this arsenal, she looked down at the white bundle in her hands and unwrapped it slowly.

_"That's mine."_

_ "You're about to get it back."_

She winced. The rather beautiful, now bloodstained blade might be a key part of her plan for keeping the Mayor's attention on herself, but the associations it had could hardly be less pleasant for him than they were for her.

"Did you get what you needed?"

Buffy dropped the knife onto the desk and spun around. Angel was standing in the doorway to the office. Not even pausing to read his expression, she went to him, wrapped her arms around his middle and buried her face against his chest. After a second or two, he hesitantly returned the embrace, but then a shudder went through his whole body. His grip tightened fiercely, and she felt him press his lips to the top of her head. She inhaled slowly and deeply, savoring his scent, then let the breath out again in a contented sigh.

"For a little while there, I thought we'd never get to do this again."

"So did I," he said, an audible tremor in his voice.

Buffy pulled back far enough to look into his eyes, in which she could see the lingering fear of what might have been. "I'm okay, Angel." She smiled, but had to blink rapidly to clear her vision. "We both are."

"I was so afraid, Buffy. I came closer to killing you last night than I ever did without my soul."

"I'm sorry I had to put you through that. But you stopped in time. That's all that should matter."

He closed his eyes. "I know, but…I think it's going to be a while before I can see it that way."

They fell silent for a moment, arms still around each other, before Buffy plucked up the courage to tell him what she'd been wondering about for the past few hours. "Angel…I feel different." She looked up to find him looking back at her in confusion, and she tried to elaborate. "I—well, this morning at the hospital, after I woke up, I sort of just knew that you were okay. I thought you were nearby at first, it felt like it, but when they told me you'd left, I just had this feeling, and I knew you were at the mansion." She looked up into his eyes again and blushed, but went on, "And then when I saw you, I had the same feeling again, only…more, and here." She touched the bandage on her neck. He followed the movement, and his eyes widened.

"So…we're connected now, right?" she asked, but before he could answer, she was babbling. "'Cause, I mean, it was sort of like that after the Master bit me too, except that felt like a disease, but I knew where he was, and the hypnosis or whatever it was didn't work on me anymore. Thank God it wasn't this strong, and that it went away after I smashed his bones, or you and everyone else might still be dealing with Pod Buffy. Does that happen every time a human survives a vampire bite?"

"No," said Angel. He looked rather pained. "It mirrors the bond vampires have with those they sire. It depends on how old the vampire is and how close the human gets to death. The Master barely took any blood from you, but you died so soon afterward that it had the same effect." His grip on her had tightened possessively and there was a growling undertone to his voice while he explained her connection to the Master, and though he didn't seem to be conscious of either, Buffy certainly was. She doubted whether her knees would have been equal to supporting her weight if she hadn't still been leaning into him, and she felt more annoyed than ever that there wasn't more time until the Ascension.

"Are those the only, uh, factors that affect it?" she asked, trying to stay focused on the conversation.

Angel shook his head. "The force of the bite also matters, and how freely the blood is given." The pained expression returned briefly, but this time he brushed it aside. He seemed to be breathing rather hard for someone who didn't need the oxygen. "This is stronger than anything I've felt before."

"Then, you feel it too?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes," he whispered, leaning forward until their foreheads were touching.

She swallowed and tried in vain to control her breathing. "Anything else?"

"This is probably unprecedented, so I can't be sure, but I think it can also draw on love."

"A-and it won't go away?"

"No." He kissed her.

"Is the bite—," she kissed him back, "—going to leave a scar?"

"Probably."

"Good."

"I wish…there was more time…before graduation."

"Yeah."

By the time they stopped talking, they were already well on their way to a full-blown make-out session, but to their mutual displeasure, it was soon cut short by the sound of Giles's voice calling for everyone to get in place. The ceremony was about to begin.

* * *

Uh. Hmm. Okay, I think these last three chapters have officially put me in PG-13 land (for reasons that aren't violence, anyway). I'm going to have to have a few words with Buffy and Angel about this. Now then, about the connection thing. If it wasn't for the implied canonical precedent set by the way Buffy acted after the Master bit her (and then again with Dracula), I probably wouldn't have included that. It's always struck me as kind of hokey in fanfiction when Buffy and Angel have some kind of invisible connection simply because of how much they love each other. However, with this much evidence from canon, I will accept the possibility of a pseudo-sire bond that is stronger (and not creepy) because of that love.


	57. More or Less Adequate

Okay, the title for this one comes from what Snyder said about the Class of '99, though it was originally called "The Rear Guard", for reasons that will soon become apparent. Enjoy!

* * *

Wesley's day had not gone well so far. To begin with, he hadn't slept in more hours than he cared to count, he had spent much of his sleepless night torn with anxiety over the seemingly imminent death of his best friend—only to be yelled at and half-strangled by that same friend once the danger had passed and he was the only one willing to stand by him, and he had spent ten highly unpleasant minutes on the phone with Quentin Travers, informing him that he and Buffy were both quitting the Council and that there would be no point sending a replacement Watcher because Faith was in a coma. As if that wasn't enough, approximately an hour before, all possibilities for future romantic dealings with Miss Chase had been categorically eliminated.

He wasn't particularly surprised to find Doyle asleep on his couch when he got back to his apartment, but he scowled at the sight of the mess of half-empty takeout cartons and beer bottles the Irishman had left strewn all over the coffee table and the floor around it. He was going to have to lay down a few rules after the battle. Quite against his will, he suddenly flashed back to his mortifying kiss with Cordelia in the library. That certainly hadn't gone the way he had fantasized it would. They had both been quite eager to begin, but then it was as if their mutual attraction simply imploded without warning, leaving behind nothing but awkwardness and the uncomfortable presence of foreign saliva in their mouths.

This unwanted recollection did nothing to improve his mood. With his goodwill already having sustained so many recent blows, and his nerves even nearer the breaking point in light of the approaching battle, Wesley was in no humor to proceed with delicacy. He picked up one of the sofa's uncomfortable decorative pillows, which had somehow made it rather far away from its proper place since he had last seen it, and threw it unceremoniously at his sleeping guest's head.

Doyle revived with a fair amount of comical flailing of limbs, with the result that he toppled off the sofa and landed the floor with a loud _thump_. "Oi! 'Aven't you English types ever 'eard of alarm clocks?" he demanded as he picked himself back up off the floor, tossing the pillow aside indignantly.

"We haven't a great deal of time," said Wesley, ignoring Doyle's complaints. "And do something about that mess, would you?" he added testily. "You'll find the bin under the kitchen sink."

Doyle subsided into sheepish silence and hastily cleared up the wreckage from his recent meals while Wesley opened a large trunk beside a bookcase and began rummaging inside it. "What're ye lookin' fer?" Doyle asked curiously when he came back to get the rest of the rubbish.

"We're going to be fighting the Mayor and his cronies in little over an hour, and I'd like to be armed. All of the weapons at the school are currently on loan to the senior class. Oh, and you're coming too."

"What!?" yelped Doyle. "I thought the plan was fer me to stay 'ere 'til the coast was clear! My job's to get Angel to L.A., which sort of implies livin' long enough to do it."

"We're going to need all the help we can get. The Mayor has a fair number of the vampires in town on his side, and they'll have free rein once the eclipse sets in. If you don't have a strategy already, then I would suggest head-butting in your demon form, followed immediately by staking. I can't recall—are a Brachen demon's spikes poisonous?"

"Ye mean fer me to show my demon face off to the whole crowd? As if that won't get me killed by one of the good guys in about two seconds."

Wesley coughed derisively. "As you know, our leader shares her bed with a vampire. Furthermore, one of her friends is a werewolf. I think you'll find that we're more accepting than you give us credit for. If you're really that worried about it, though, then don't transform until the second prior to each head-butt. I imagine it would provide a certain element of surprise that you could use to your advantage."

"Doesn't sound like I've got much of a choice," said Doyle with a mixture of apprehension and irritation.

"Consider participation in the battle your room and board," said Wesley, tossing him a stake and a cross from his trunk and straightening up, armed with more of the same. "Let's go."

Doyle gulped and followed him out of the apartment.

[o]

Even though Angel was having trouble pulling his thoughts away from Buffy, he couldn't help feeling impressed by the readiness with which the students he would be leading in the rear guard took up arms and prepared themselves for the fight. Clearly, the civilians of this town were not all as willfully ignorant as they sometimes seemed to be. Several of the kids even recognized him as "that older guy Buffy brought to the prom"—not that this had anything to do with their awareness of the danger, but it did seem to make him automatically worthy of their trust.

Luckily for Angel, every main building on campus was connected in some way, so he didn't have to get creative to stay out of the sun's reach en route from the library all the way around to the gym, where they would be ideally positioned to launch their assault on the Mayor's vamps once Xander's half of the "troops" had them on the run. The gym, however, was not quite empty when they arrived.

"Doyle," said Angel, a little surprised. "Didn't realize you were in the game."

"Yeah, well. I wasn't, until I got drafted by the Queen's Representative," said Doyle ruefully, jerking his head in the direction of Wesley, who was hanging back and looking uncharacteristically ill-tempered.

"Wes," said Angel.

"Angel," said Wesley stiffly.

This was the first time they'd been within speaking distance of each other since their confrontation at the mansion, not including when they had both been present at the same planning session. Angel saw the faint bruises around Wesley's throat and knew an apology was in order.

"I'm sorry about this morning."

"As you should be. Have you spoken with Buffy yet?"

Doyle noticed Wesley's tone and raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "What'd I miss?" he asked, glancing back and forth between them.

Angel ignored him. "Yeah. We spoke."

"Oh? And did you slam her up against the wall as well?"

Doyle looked even more interested, but didn't interrupt again.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly use the word 'slam', and I don't think she minded," said Angel blithely, though he was unable to stop a slight smirk from flitting across his features. Doyle grinned.

Wesley went pink, coughed, and readjusted his glasses. "That's, er, well—I'm glad you two worked things out, at any rate, but you'll have to forgive me if I don't stop being angry just yet. It's nothing personal, but I suspect that if I do, the paralyzing fear would set in instead, and I'd rather not go into the fight like that."

"No problem," said Angel, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he clapped Wesley on the back. Suddenly, the light streaming diagonally across the room through the high windows began to dim. The students, who had also been chatting, fell silent immediately.

"It's the eclipse," said Angel loudly into the tense stillness. He wasn't accustomed to being in charge like this, but he put as much authority into his voice as he could muster and carried on anyway. "That's our cue to get in position. You all know what comes next." Grips tightened on weapons everywhere, and the students began to pour outside. By the time the last one had exited, it was dark enough for Angel to follow, which he did, flanked by Wesley and Doyle.

The hair-raising cry of the Mayor in his new demon form rent the air, and they all knew the battle had commenced. Xander was clearly doing a very good job with his half of the students, for the horde of vampires soon came into sight as they attempted to put more distance between themselves and the flaming arrows falling in their midst. Angel couldn't suppress a growl of eager anticipation. The energy of Buffy's blood was still coursing through him, and the means of releasing it was finally at hand. He dove into the fray first, taking on three at once.

Wesley followed his example, though less recklessly, and was immediately forced to duck a fist that came out of nowhere, which would surely have clotheslined him if it had met its mark. Percy and the rest of the students joined the fight on all sides. Doyle, not having come up with any better ideas than the one Wesley had given him, let out a cry that held almost more fear than rage and slammed his head into the oncoming fanged visage of a vampire, timing his transformation so that the blue spikes extended just before impact. The results were rather gruesome, but the move had definitely done the trick; while the vampire brought his hands up to his torn and bloody face in agony, Doyle was able to stake him with no trouble at all.

Angel's and Wesley's separate fights soon brought them almost back-to-back with each other. Angel, who had made short work of his first three opponents, used the momentum of the vampire he was currently facing against him, causing him to land flat on his back on the pavement. "How's it going, Wes?" he asked, having noticed the fear in Wesley's scent. He knew conversation would help steady his friend more than it would distract him, as had always been true when they sparred.

"Quite well, actually," Wesley replied loudly over the noise of the battle. "Have I mentioned how much I appreciate all the lessons?" He avoided another furious punch from his vampire so narrowly that he felt the wind from it sweep across his face. This time, he managed to retaliate with a vicious uppercut to the vampire's chin.

"Glad to see you've found a practical use for them," said Angel, driving his stake home and shifting smoothly back into his stance, ready for the next attack. He heard a shrill female scream from the direction of Xander's avant-garde at the other end of the battlefield, but he could only hope that someone nearer to the unknown girl would be able to intervene, because another vampire had just stepped in front of him and was now commanding his attention.

"Indeed I have," said Wesley with satisfaction, for he hadn't wasted the opening his previous blow created, and his own enemy was now dust as well. "Also, I thought I ought to tell you that I'm no longer in the Council's employ. Nor is Buffy, for that matter."

"Happy to hear it," said Angel, his fist sending his current opponent's head snapping backward. "Never really liked them, for some reason."

"And as Buffy has her other friends to help her and I doubt that Mr. Giles intends to leave her to her own devices any time soon, that leaves me free to go to Los Angeles with you," Wesley went on, his confidence building as the next vampire stepped up.

Angel paused, having just staked his fifth vampire of the battle. "Really?" A sixth vampire quickly took the place of the previous one, and he easily blocked the first attack and countered with his own. This vampire was practically a fledgling compared to him but seemed to know who he was dealing with, because he smelled even more strongly of fear than Wesley. He was almost anticlimactically easy to finish off, and once he was dust, a quick glance around the rest of the battlefield told Angel that the students were doing surprisingly well, though several were obviously injured. Most of them were fighting in small groups that took on the vampires one at a time, while the vampires showed no such coordination and were consequently growing more outnumbered by the second.

"Fond as I am of Buffy," Wesley was saying dryly, "she isn't in danger of being under the primary influence of a drunk, lazy Irishman who leaves his rubbish all over your coffee table."

"Hey!" said Angel, half indignant, half amused. "Times were different, that could be me you're talking about."

"Yes, and we wouldn't want to suffer a relapse, now, would we?"

"Not really," Angel allowed. "But you know I'm not going to be sharing an apartment with you, right?"

"As if I'd want to be anywhere near your place when Buffy visits, let alone living there," Wesley scoffed.

The vampires' ranks were definitely thinning now. A couple of them had managed to flee into the premature night, but most were dust. Using the same strategy even though it made him want to vomit rather a lot, Doyle had taken out two more since the first one, and he was just heading for another when a pretty brunette staked his target before he could get there, so he changed course. About ten seconds later, a colossal explosion erupted throughout the interior of school.

The Class of '99 and their allies all recoiled from the blast and the intense heat wave that it sent sweeping over them. The same young woman Doyle had just seen stake a vampire had leapt instinctively into the protective circle of his arms—a move that seemed to be quite as surprising for her as it was for him. He didn't mind in the slightest, though. Pretty had been an understatement. She was completely gorgeous.

"T-thanks," she said, staring at him with wide eyes.

With a massive effort, Doyle managed to stop gawking at her like an idiot and smirked, feeling immensely grateful that his features were currently human. "Any time, princess," he said. Someone knocked into them then and they broke apart. Before Doyle could pull himself together, the beautiful young woman had vanished from sight.

* * *

Poor Jonathan, didn't get to be the one to hold Cordy during the explosion. *grin* Also, that first punch that Wesley ducked was from canon. He just handled it better. :P One or two more canon Easter eggs in there, but I'll let you find them on your own.


	58. And Miles to Go Before I Sleep

Okay, it took way too long to write this chapter. I think I was forcing myself not to until after finals were over, but they've been over for a week and I'm home for the summer with all kinds of free time now, so I don't really have an excuse. Also, I wasn't sure how many chapters would be left after 57, but I was convinced that there would be at least two. I was wrong. This is the final chapter. If it helps at all, it's also the longest. Enjoy! (Oh, and you might notice that my page breaks within chapters now look hilariously like bellybuttons in brackets. Well, the site decided to eat my normal-looking page breaks, so I had to go through and replace them all with something else. *shrug*)

* * *

The fighting continued for a few confused minutes during and after the explosion, by which point the Mayor's vampires were mostly attempting to flee, knowing their side had lost. In preventing the escape of one vampire, Wesley came away triumphant, but sported a bloody nose and a left arm that seemed to have been dislocated. He made his way over to the convoy of ambulances that had arrived alongside the fire trucks, a rather silly grin on his face despite his injuries, though it was occasionally punctuated with a wince.

Meanwhile, Angel wandered through the battlefield to survey the damage, and was both surprised and impressed at the lack of human bodies strewn across it—at least until he reached the main platform where the graduation ceremony had taken place, but even then it wasn't nearly as bad as he had feared. He walked on and saw Willow and Oz locked in a tight hug nearby, then spotted Xander and Cordelia gathering up discarded weapons a short distance away from them. He hadn't seen Buffy yet, but wasn't worried. He knew she had made it through the fight.

All around him, students were seeking friends or helping with the cleanup. A battalion of firemen was seeing to the wreckage of the main school building, and smoke from the explosion had begun to drift outward, obscuring parts of the scene from Angel's view. Somebody emerged from this smoke and made to walk past him, clearly intent upon leaving, but Angel snarled and moved into his path.

"Hey! What gives, man?" he demanded indignantly.

Angel chose to reply by punching him in the face, then raising his eyebrows pointedly at his newly revealed vampiric visage. Having already worked out most of his excess energy, however, Angel wasn't interested in a prolonged fight, so he staked him before he could attack.

After resuming his walk, he soon spotted Giles, who was smiling slightly and wiping soot off his face with his handkerchief. Barely five seconds later, Angel could hear the footsteps of what sounded like a fairly petite person running in his direction. He turned just in time to open his arms as Buffy launched herself into them. Their collision was slightly off-center, which caused Angel to spin around. He was soon able to steady himself with Buffy still held securely against him, and they continued to hug very tightly for a long moment.

"It's over," said Buffy in a rather dazed voice.

"Yeah," Angel agreed. While that should have been an easy concept to grasp, it was still rather surprising, somehow. The Mayor had occupied such a major part of all of their concerns, and now he was suddenly gone for good right at the point that he became more of a threat than ever. That the danger was over after being so great was simply incredible.

"And see? Giles found my diploma!" Buffy held up the tightly rolled scroll, grinning vaguely.

"How's it feel to be a high school graduate?" asked Angel, his eyes crinkling into the smile Buffy loved so much.

"Definitely of the good," she said. She giggled faintly. "So, did you notice how I blew up the school with the Mayor inside it?"

"Hard to miss. My eardrums are still vibrating," said Angel.

Buffy pouted—at least, until he kissed her.

"You were amazing," he said warmly.

She giggled again. "That's more like it." She wobbled and fell against him, still giggling as if she had been dosed with nitrous oxide. Evidently, the culmination of everything with the Mayor and the release of all the strain it created had left her in a state of euphoric delirium in her moment of triumph. Angel was perfectly content with his role of keeping her from toppling over, and part of him even felt like laughing too. He didn't, though, because at that moment, Doyle appeared over Buffy's shoulder. His expression was an odd combination of bewildered relief and sulkiness.

"So, I see that we won," he said.

"We did," said Angel. Buffy looked around at Doyle too, though her head remained nestled against Angel's chest. "I saw you in the battle. Looked like you were doing pretty well."

"Oh, yeah. Well enough. Participation wasn't nearly as fatal as I expected." Doyle's tone was light, but once he finished speaking, he sank into a depressed silence that was punctuated by frequent hopeful glances at the people who walked past them.

"Something wrong?" asked Buffy.

"Nah," said Doyle, waving a hand dismissively. "I was just 'opin' to find someone I bumped into durin' the fight." His attempt at nonchalance did not succeed in masking his disappointment. Apparently he realized this, because he changed the subject before either of them could remark upon it. "Right. I'll just be off to the pub to celebrate, then. Care to join me?"

"I'll pass," said Angel. He felt Buffy's arms tighten warmly around his middle at this, and he mused idly that if he'd had her when he was alive, he never would have been tempted to drink so much as a drop of ale.

"Big surprise. Well, if ye need me, I'll either be at Willy's or passed out on the Englishman's sofa." With that, he departed, and after a moment, Buffy and Angel went to find the others.

It didn't surprise Angel that Willow, Oz, Xander, and Cordelia were all demonstrating varying degrees of the same state of bewilderment that currently had Buffy in its clutches. Xander hid it beneath his usual humor, even if it seemed a little forced, and it was only apparent in Oz in that it had made him more overtly philosophical than he would normally be. Not unlike Buffy, Willow alternated endearingly between giddy enthusiasm and dazed silence, and remained glued to Oz's side throughout. However, Angel was most intrigued by Cordelia, who kept glancing around in a manner that strongly recalled Doyle's behavior before he left.

Wesley joined them after a few minutes, looking perfectly cheerful even though his formerly bloody nose was still swollen and bits of rolled up tissue were stuffed in his nostrils, his no longer dislocated but still exceptionally sore left arm was in a sling, and the beginnings of a spectacular shiner were forming around his right eye. Everyone except Xander was highly amused by the way he and Cordelia determinedly ignored each other until they all went their separate ways.

[o]

Buffy awoke, as she often had, to find that she was comfortably entwined with Angel beneath the covers. Among the more noticeable differences from usual were that they were in her room at Revello Drive rather than at his apartment and that they were both clothed. It took a moment of attempting to wade through her very hazy memories of the previous evening before she realized that she must have fallen asleep shortly after leaving the wreckage of the school. It wasn't hard to guess what had happened after that: Angel had carried her the rest of the way home, removed both of their jackets and shoes (as well as his shirt, she noticed), then joined her in the bed, where they both slept like rocks for the rest of the night—and, judging by the strong glow of daylight behind the tightly closed blinds, most of the following morning.

As carefully as she could, Buffy extricated herself from Angel's arms and got out of bed. If everything went according to plan, she'd be back with minty fresh breath, clean clothes, and perfect hair before he noticed she had left. It wasn't until after she had finished brushing her teeth and was halfway done with her hair that she noticed the bandage still taped to the place where her neck met her shoulder. She moved her hair out of the way and tentatively peeled back the gauze. The wound left by Angel's bite hadn't fully healed yet, but it was at least closed, so she pulled the bandage the rest of the way off and threw it away.

That task accomplished, she removed the previous day's clothes and tossed them into the hamper, and, feeling no inclination to get properly dressed for this day yet, substituted them for one of the shirts she'd stolen from Angel's wardrobe. Then she turned back to the mirror and leaned close so that she could examine the bite mark in more detail. She decided that if anyone—including her mother—asked, she could say it was a dog bite. She was grateful to have such a reasonable explanation for it, because it wasn't something she wanted to share with anyone but Angel. Ever. She even wished that Giles, Wesley, and her friends didn't know. Hopefully they'd be tactful enough to pretend they didn't.

Now that there were no longer any major threats to worry about, she finally allowed herself to think back to two nights ago. There had been pain—of course. She had expected it and was ready to endure it. What she hadn't expected was how intensely she had felt connected to Angel while he drank her blood, or how powerful and intimate the experience would be, or that she would be able to feel her life making him whole. If she had known it would be like that beforehand, she wouldn't even have contemplated using Faith to cure him. Only a fraction of that connection lingered, but it was still incredible. It was as if Angel's arms were around her wherever she went. But, of course, she thought wryly as she walked back into her bedroom, why settle for the ghost of the feeling when the reality was so close at hand?

To her slight chagrin, Angel had woken up during her absence, a fact he made known by tickling her when she attempted to slip unobtrusively back into place. She shrieked with laughter, but was soon able to squirm away and hit him with one of her pillows.

"So that's where that shirt went," he said, smirking. "I've been looking everywhere."

"You can't have it back," said Buffy. "And you're gonna lose that one too if you're not careful," she added, pointing at the one that lay neatly folded with his jacket on top of her desk chair.

"Hmm, we'll see about that," said Angel. He then kissed her so thoroughly that she nearly forgot about her plots for hoarding as many articles of his clothing as she could.

"When do you want to start looking at places in L.A.?" asked Buffy, who was determined to at least have _this_ conversation before they became too distracted.

"Soon. If I don't, Wes'll probably kill Doyle."

"True. But how soon is 'soon'?"

"Depends. There's something I've got to do first, somewhere else."

Buffy pouted and scooted a few inches away. "You mean now?"

"No!" he said quickly, pulling her back. "It can wait."

"Good. 'Cause, you know, my mom's not going to be back until tomorrow."

"It can definitely wait."

[o]

"How many times do I have to tell you, Wes? Don't pull your punches. You might be a foot taller than me, but I'm the Slayer, and you've only been doing training that was worth anything for a few months. You really don't have to worry about hurting me."

As the library was now so much soot-blackened rubble, this training session was taking place in the great room of the mansion. Wesley, whose injuries from the battle had now healed nicely, decided not to clarify that it was less the thought of hurting Buffy and more the thought of how Angel might react if he found out that he had hurt Buffy that was causing him to pull his punches.

Buffy glared at him suspiciously, and he wondered if his face had been a little too transparent regarding his thoughts. "Look," she said sternly, wagging a threatening finger at him, "if you don't stop pulling your punches, then _I'm_ going to stop pulling _mine_."

Wesley gulped. From the edge of the room, Doyle whistled, while Giles appeared to be halfway between amusement and disapproval. Xander passed Willow and Oz the popcorn as the sparring match resumed, and this time Wesley made a valiant effort not to hold back. The fact of the matter was that they both preferred to spar with Angel—Buffy because they were so in tune with each other that the fights were more like dances, among other reasons, and Wesley because fighting with Angel didn't require him to attempt to hit a girl—but that wasn't an option at the moment.

Willow uncurled her legs, which were starting to feel stiff from being tucked close to her body for so long, and stretched them out. In doing so, she accidentally knocked Buffy's backpack over. She moved it back to where it was, but a notebook fell out in the process, and she was distracted by the intricate design drawn in pencil on the open page.

"Hey, what's this?" she asked vaguely, pulling the notebook all the way out of the backpack and looking at it more closely. Xander and Oz glanced at it briefly, but it couldn't hold their attention for long, because Buffy had just caught one of Wesley's punches and used it to flip him to the ground. Giles, smirking, walked over to see what Willow was talking about. She held the notebook out to him when he reached her, and he took it and looked at the drawing.

"Ah, this is Angel's tattoo, yes?" he said.

"What?" said Buffy, who was somewhat preoccupied with helping Wesley back to his feet. She glanced over and saw that they were referring to her notebook. "Oh, yeah," she said before turning back to the fight.

"Wow," said Willow. "I-it's so pretty! I didn't know you could draw, Buffy."

"I can't. But I've seen it a lot, so—" Having realized what she was implying, she went pink and fell silent at once. Giles coughed and put the notebook down rather hastily while Willow, even though her face also had a rosier hue than usual, glanced at Oz conspiratorially, to which he replied with a raised eyebrow and an almost imperceptible smile. Doyle grinned and Xander looked revolted. Wesley wasn't sure he wanted to keep sparring anymore, but evidently it wasn't up to him, for at that moment he was forced to duck hastily to avoid Buffy's fist.

Buffy, still blushing furiously, noticed everyone's reactions and became indignant. "Leave me alone," she said irritably, knocking Wesley's retaliatory blow aside almost without looking at it. "I miss him, okay?"

"He'll be back soon," said Willow soothingly, while shooting glares at Xander and Doyle. "It's already been three weeks, so he should be there by now."

"I still don't get why he couldn't have just taken a plane," said Xander. "Is it really that hard to avoid sunlight?"

"Maybe he just doesn't like flying," Willow suggested.

[o]

Angel had to remind himself of how far he had traveled in order to muster the resolve to knock on the door. Eventually, he managed it, and then hurriedly seized the thick letter sitting in his inner coat pocket and held it out in front of him like a protective talisman. The door opened to reveal a petite woman with thick, curly black hair and olive skin. Her eyes traveled quickly up his form and widened with recognition and then fear when they reached his face. Several shades paler now, she made to slam the door shut.

"Wait!" he said imploringly in Romanian. She froze, eyes still fixed on him, hand on the doorknob. He held the letter out even further, so that he could feel the knuckle of his forefinger brush against the invisible barrier keeping him out. "You don't have to invite me in, but take this, please. It's from Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

Her hand whipped out and snatched the letter so quickly that he barely saw it, heightened senses notwithstanding. She clutched it to her chest and stared at him searchingly for a few more seconds. "Wait here," she said.

Angel nodded meekly, trying to look as friendly and unthreatening as possible, and suddenly wishing he'd worn a little less black. Her eyes didn't leave his face until the door closed between them.

He spent fifteen highly discomfited minutes by himself on the front steps before the door opened again. The petite woman was now accompanied by her husband, who was easily a few inches taller than Angel and a good deal bulkier. In one large hand, he held Wesley's letter.

"You are not here to demand we lift the curse?" he asked rather bluntly, waving the letter.

"No," said Angel. "I'm here to thank you for it."

The End

* * *

So! That's it for "Worlds Apart". I suppose this is a good place to thank my reviewers, and boy do you guys deserve it. I never expected to get so many, and I'm very grateful. Particularly for the ones that obviously took some time and effort, and also yours, **Reader**, because I could never reply to any of them even though I totally loved them. Now then, I know a lot of you want me to write a sequel. If it happens (and that's definitely an "if", not a "when"), it won't be for a long time, because I need to finish some other stuff first (and it would also help if I knew what I wanted to write in the first place), I'll let you guys know by posting an alert/preview/something or other about it as the chapter 59 to this fic. I seriously don't have the time or inspiration to work on it now, so pestering me about it will only irritate me and make it even less likely that I'll write it. In the meantime, though, you could always read my other stuff if you haven't already. Also, with this one finished, "The Slayer and His Vampire" is no longer on hold. It might be a little while yet before an update, though, because there's only one chapter left in "Finis Vitae", and it's been way too long since I updated "Season 9".


	59. Sequel Alert

So! I promised you guys I'd let you know if/when any sequel-y things started brewing for "Worlds Apart". And now there have. Kind of. I still don't have plans for an official sequel with an overarching plot that isn't entirely dependent upon the events of canon in _Buffy_ season four and _Angel_ season one. For now, all that's going to happen is that as I rewatch the show (because I'm doing a marathon of both shows and have just as of two days ago reached S4/S1, making it the first time I've watched significant amounts of anything past _Buffy_ S3 in three years), I'll write episode-based crossover-y one-shots mostly (or entirely) centered around Buffy and Angel. If bigger stuff changes as a result, this might just grow into a proper sequel anyway, but I'm not guaranteeing that it'll happen. I'm also not guaranteeing that the updates will come regularly, because (officially) this takes lower priority than "Season 9" and "The Slayer and His Vampire".


End file.
